Despite Differences
by writerslive
Summary: Harry's never been what you'd call normal. Now, with a ridiculous, embarrassing teenage crush on his sexy potions professor, he knows he'll never be normal again. If only that were his biggest problem. WARNING: SLASH. No likey, no ready.
1. Chapter 1

Hi!

This is my first fic, so go easy on me, would you? And keep in mind that this will be slash, so if you don't like that sort of thing, well, don't read it.

………

Disclaimer: Mine! JKR stole them all from me! Right. So maybe they're not mine, but that doesn't stop me having some fun with them, eh? I rest my case.

……….

Harry carefully measured out three drops of bowtruckle blood (a gummy liquid that reminded him forcefully of Hagrid's treacle tarts) and leaned over his cauldron. It was perfect, so far. Surprisingly, he'd managed to follow the instructions. He sneaked a look to the front of the classroom to see if Snape was looking. It would be nice to get approval for once. _It'd be nice to get something _more_ than approval…_

Disappointed, (the professor was leaning over Malfoy's potion, nodding approvingly) Harry shrugged and peered at his work again. He just needed to drop in the blood, stir clockwise four times, and he was finished. The spoon with the drops in it was poised in his right hand, while his left hand steadied him against the wall, holding a full bottle of the stuff. He tilted his hand…

"Mr. Potter." The silky voice was right next to his ear, and he jumped, surprised. Damn it, people weren't supposed to move that quietly! His jump put him off balance, and he threw out his left arm to avoid toppling face-first into the fire.

Unfortunately, the full bottle of bowtruckle blood was in his left hand, and in his surprise, he felt it slip out of his hand…

"Oh bloody hell!" Harry watched in dismay as his potion changed from the desired cloudy blue of the almost finished potion to a deep rusty color that looked disturbingly like dried blood.

He looked over his shoulder, bracing himself for Snape's comment. The potions master leaned past him to look into Harry's cauldron, and Harry involuntarily breathed deeply. Snape smelled of herbs and smoke, a combination that should have been repulsive, but was decidedly not.

"Mr. Potter, where in your instructions does it advise that you empty your entire bottle of bowtruckle blood into the potion?"

"Um, nowhere, Sir." Harry said blandly.

Snape sighed. "So why, pray tell, did you feel the need to do so?"

Harry would have dearly loved to say "I was experimenting", but felt that this could lose him as many as a hundred points for Griffendor. Instead he looked insolently at the man standing beside him. "It was an accident, Sir. You surprised me." _Greasy git. Sneaking up behind me. I'll bet you did that on purpose._

Snape's lip curled. "Kindly do not blame your abysmal potions skills on me, Potter."

Harry felt that this was more than slightly unfair, but kept his mouth shut. Hermione had lectured him the night before, after all, and he owed it to her to try for at least a day to be polite to Snape.

Snape sneered, realizing he wasn't going to get a reaction, and shook his head. "Ten points from Griffendor for wasting ingredients. And I'll see you after class, Potter."

Harry swore under his breath and looked helplessly at his potion, which was now quite ruined. "Sir, what should I do with this?" the question slipped out. Harry knew perfectly well the futility of asking Snape _anything_.

Sure enough, the familiar sneer was firmly in place when his professor turned to face him again. "Dispose of it."

The class filed out, some of them giving Harry sympathetic looks, others sneering at him, reminding him eerily of their head of house. He grinned and shrugged at the Griffendors, and did his best to ignore the Slytheryns. As Hermione said, he thought ruefully, they weren't worth it.

"My desk, Potter." The voice came from the front of the room, where Snape sat, looking thoroughly bored, marking some unfortunate first-year's paper. Harry glimpsed a failing grade before Snape covered it up and met his eye.

"The potion we attempted in class today was well within your capabilities, Potter, meager as they are. I was…surprised…" here he looked as if something disgusting was crawling in front of his nose "to see how well you were doing with it, in fact, until the last step."

"Yes, Sir. You just distracted me." _You always distract me._

"That is not an excuse."

"No, it's a reason! Anyway, I made a _mistake!_ At least I didn't light anyone on fire!" Harry stopped, surprised to see Snape suppressing a grin.

"We cannot all judge ourselves by Longbottom's standards, Mr. Potter." Then the smile was gone. "Failing at a potion that you are perfectly capable of getting right is not acceptable."

"Well, would you let me try it again?"

He'd succeeded in catching the potions master of guard. "Again?"

"This was my last class. If you'd let me try it again, maybe I could get marks for it? I mean, Sir, you wouldn't have to supervise me or anything, and it only takes about half an hour to actually make the potion."

Harry did not actually expect to be allowed a second chance. He was simply prolonging the time he got to spend in the company of his professor. His professor who he could not stand (or so he kept telling himself).

But this time it was he who was caught off guard.

"Certainly, Potter."

"That's—what? Really, Sir?"

"Of course." Snape answered smoothly. "Provided you manage not to set the room on fire in my absence. However," He held up one long finger, "should you fail to complete the potion to my satisfaction, I will expect you here for the next four Friday evenings, for detention."

Harry nodded. Detention with Snape no longer bothered him unduly. It was, in fact, a good chance to ogle his professor, something he'd never admit, even under torture.

Half an hour later, the potion was finished. And, Harry knew, it was perfect. If Snape was disappointed, it'd be a sure sign that Harry would _never_ be up to his standards, which would be a good indication that he should stop trying. Harry smirked a little at himself. He'd certainly been trying harder at potions in the past year. Ever since something about the professor had caught his eye.

At first it had been the fingers. Harry had never seen anyone with longer fingers. They weren't just long, either; they were graceful. Then, after he'd noticed that, it had been the walk, which was more of a glide. Then simply the way he talked, which was disturbing and yet intelligent at the same time. Harry found himself appreciating the insults sometimes, even though they were aimed at him.

Trying to distract himself from thoughts of Snape, Harry began to put away his ingredients. The bowtruckle blood wasn't his. It was from the store cupboard. As he opened the door, he saw another cabinet, higher up, which was open slightly. Unable, as always, to deny his curiosity he glanced quickly around, and opened it.

The familiar basin of Dumbledore's pensive greeted him. _Why_, he thought, _does no one ever lock this up?_ He couldn't look in it this time. If he felt the way he thought he did about Snape, he ought to have some respect for privacy.

But his good intentions didn't get him very far. He peeked into the basin, thinking to put it back right away, and saw a face that was strikingly familiar.

His own.

Harry gasped and almost dropped it, tightening his hold quickly. He leaned in closer, frowning. Something about his face wasn't right somehow.

And, as he fell into the basin, head first, yet again, he realized what it was. The face was not his; it was his father's.

…

PLEASE review? I NEED feedback…

Oh, and I don't have any of the HP books handy…could someone tell me how to spell Griffendor, Slytheryn, bowtruckle, and Dumbledore? I kind of doubt I got them right…


	2. Chapter 2

I got reviews! I totally didn't expect to get any, so thank you all sooooo much for reviewing! Thanks as well to everyone who clarified the spelling for things. I actually do know the books pretty well, but spelling often escapes me. Funny that way. :P

I'm open on advice as to what should happen next…

Disclaimer: Hmm. Let's think. JKR: Rich, famous, blond, two children, author of HP. Me: broke, obscure, mousy brown hair, NO CHILDREN, and most decidedly NOT author of HP.

……..

Harry found himself in the dining hall, a much younger Snape in front of him, sitting alone, watching the Gryffindor table. Harry could just make out his father's head, and wondered if that was who Snape was watching. Snape looked about fourteen. His hair was shorter, and cut much like Harry's. It was also much less greasy.

He watched as Snape ate dinner, alone throughout, and listened to conversation around him. It was, of course, at the Slytherin table, but much of the conversation was familiar to him. Mostly Quidditch and exams.

Finally, after almost everyone had left the hall, Snape got up. Harry could see his father better now, and was surprised to see that he wasn't surrounded by friends. From what he knew of his father, this was unusual. Snape, steeling himself visibly, walked over and sat down at the empty Gryffindor Table, across from James.

"Hi."

James looked up, surprised. "Hey." His eyes flicked over Snape's face, and then recognition hit. "Aren't you Slytherin?"

_Snape shrugged. "Does it matter?"_

"_Ya, a bit. What did you want?"_

_Snape looked uncomfortable, and Harry tried to place the look on his face. It was horribly familiar. "I'd kind of like to talk to you in private."_

_James looked around, obviously at a loss. "Do you see anyone around here? We're pretty much in private."_

_Snape nodded. "My name's Severus."_

"_Oh. James." It was very reluctant sounding. James simply wanted this nosy Slytherin to go away. _

"_Look, I don't know you or anything, but I know you haven't had any girlfriends. I sort of asked."_

_Harry realized why the look was familiar. It was that resolute, consequences be damned look he'd had when he'd asked Cho out before the Yule Ball. He put his head in his hands and hoped that Snape would stop. James wasn't interested. _

_But Snape plowed on, ignoring the look of horror on James' face. "And I haven't either. I'm not really interested in girls. I was wondering…well, I think I sort of like you, and I thought maybe…" He trailed off hopefully. _

_James sat there for a second, stunned, and then leapt to his feet. "No! Is that a joke?"_

_Snape looked down, misery radiating from his face. _

"_What the hell are you playing at? No! That's disgusting! You…you're disgusting!" And, to Harry's dismay, he pulled his wand out and pointed it at Severus. "Stay away from me, you pervert, or I'll hex you."_

_And with that he turned and strode away, leaving Harry feeling sorrier for Snape than he ever had before. _

_But now he knew why his father had treated Snape the way he had. Now he knew why it was painful for Snape to so much as look at Harry, the boy who resembled his father so much. _Snape must have resented my mum, _he thought. _No wonder he was so rude to her.

_And Severus would never, never think of Harry as anything more than an annoying student who brought back bad memories. He'd been turned down by Harry's father, and he wasn't going to make the mistake of thinking the son was any different. _

Harry pulled himself out of the Pensive and put it back on the shelf. He bottled a sample of his potion, placed it on Snape's desk, and cleared up. He didn't want to just leave the potion there, though. Knowing Snape, the potions master would pretend he hadn't been able to find it, and give Harry a failing mark. And three detentions.

So he grabbed the vial and walked out into the hallway, wondering where to find the professor.

It turned out he didn't have to go very far. Rounding a corner, he ran smack into the very man he'd been looking for, and dropped the vial, which he'd so carefully stoppered, onto the stone floor at his feet.

"No!"

"Mr. Potter—"

"I know! I know, Sir, it's my own fault, but I worked really hard on this. Oh damn."

Snape was unmoved. "Detention it is, Potter."

"Yes, Sir. I'll be there tonight."

And, without another glance, Snape pushed (or rather glided) past Harry. Harry, turning to go up the stairs, couldn't help one backwards glance at that walk…

Then, suddenly, Harry slipped on the spilled potion, flailed his arms wildly for one second, and fell, very hard, on the stone floor. Something, probably the back of his head, he thought fuzzily, cracked loudly as it hit. He heard, in a distant sort of way, footsteps running towards him, and he knew it must be Snape, because there wasn't anyone else nearby. He wished he was standing, because it would be interesting to watch Snape run.

"You idiot!"

"It was an accident, Sir." Harry could hear his voice, but he didn't have any control over what he was saying. "So was the Pensive. None of my business, but I just fell in."

Snape ignored him. "Just drink this, Potter, it should clear your head."

Harry, obediently, drank out of the vial held in front of him, and immediately wished he hadn't. The stuff tasted like something you'd find at the bottom of the fridge, growing mould. But his head felt clearer. It hurt too.

"Have you broken anything?"

"No, Sir. My head hurts though." And he sat up, something that he instantly regretted, since the walls started spinning around him. "And the walls appear to be spinning. Would you let Dumbledore know, and ask him to make it stop? It's making me a bit sick you see."  
Snape swore under his breath, something that intrigued Harry, since he'd never heard any of his professors (baring Hagrid) swear. When he spoke again, it was in kinder voice, albeit one with little patience. "Harry, you are concussed. I am going to help you stand, and we are going to walk back to the potions classroom."

"Ok." Harry tried to get to his feet, clutching the wall, so as to avoid needing Snape's support, but couldn't manage it. He closed his eyes, half standing, feeling ill. "Um standing might be a problem."

An exasperated sigh came from somewhere above him.

"I didn't fall on purpose, you know!"

"I am aware of that. Very little that you do, it would appear, is on purpose. But don't try to stand again." Harry heard a swishing of robes, and a muttered incantation, and felt himself rise several feet in the air. When he opened his eyes, he was floating on his back. He shut his eyes very quickly, feeling ill. He'd seen this done to Snape, in third year.

Without further ado, he was swooping down the hall, watching Snape stride in front of him. Even in his semi-unconscious state, he couldn't help admiring that walk. As if in answer to his naughty thoughts, a torch bracket came out of nowhere, straight in front of him. Harry regarded it with foreboding for a second, and then winched as it collided with his already aching head. The potions classroom had better be close.

Luckily, it was. Harry had no sooner thought this then the door was opened and he glided through, coming to rest on the floor.

"Stay there for a minute, Potter. I have a potion for your head."

Harry didn't answer. He seriously doubted he was capable of coherent speech right now. Maybe the best thing was just to keep his mouth shut so he didn't embarrass himself.

A minute later, Snape filled his vision, bending over him. Harry clamped his mouth shut even tighter, not wanting any of his thoughts to slip out accidentally. Having Snape this close to him was bringing on certain visions.

"Harry, you've got to drink this." Again, the voice was kind (for Snape, which was not at all the same thing as kind for other people) but not overly patient. Harry opened his mouth automatically, and swallowed the icy liquid. It seemed cold enough to burn, and he half sat up, gagging. Snape vanished from his view rather quickly, drawing back as if frightened Harry was going to vomit.

"That's cold!" he exclaimed when he could talk.

"On the contrary, it simply seems that way. Some of the herbs involved in keeping it fresh tend to have that side effect." The slight sarcasm that seemed to come as an extra with Snape was back. "Now, Potter, how is your head?"

"You're calling me Potter again."

Snape blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I thought you called me Harry a few minutes ago." Harry blinked fast. The walls were slowing down, and he was trying to fix each one in place.

"Yes, I believed it would put you at your ease." Exasperated. "You look quite addlepated, Potter. Blinking will not help clear your head. Just sit for a moment."

Harry sat.

A few moments passed. Snape seemed to have lost interest as their conversation died, and was now sitting at his desk, looking through papers. Harry got to his feet uncertainly, the second he was sure he wouldn't just fall down again, and looked at the teacher.

"Sir?"

Snape looked up, somehow conveying impatience and disgust in one look. Harry wished he could do that. "Um, what about my potion?"

"I thought we had made that clear. You will receive a zero for that assignment, and you will join me for detention for the next four Fridays. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now get our of my sight. I have better things to do." This last was almost a hiss, and Harry nodded, turned on his heel, and strode away.

Snape sat at his desk, his eyes focused on a cabinet on the far wall. One that he'd been certain he'd shut and locked, and now hung open. He got to his feet and strode over to the cupboard quickly, flinging the door open, and fixing his eyes on the Pensive. It was lying a good foot away from where he'd placed it the night before.

_Potter_.

The last memory he'd put into the basin was…he couldn't remember. Frowning, he swirled the contents, searching…

……..

ya, Snape's going to be mad. Any advice on what he should do? You like? I live for your approval…


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All right! All right, I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! sobs It's not mine! None of it! It's not sniffs mine!

All righty then. Thanks again your guys for reviewing. My computer's malfunctioning (again) so I can't go back and read your reviews, and I can't remember your pennames off the top of my head, so I'm going to just have to thank you all generally. I REALLY need advice for what's going to happen, by the way. I don't think Snape is remotely interested in Harry yet, so this might be a long fic…how do I get Snape to start thinking of Harry as an adult? Any thoughts?

Harry ran his hand down the back of his head, feeling the bump. It didn't hurt now, but who knew how long that would last? He'd tried to do some homework, but couldn't concentrate, knowing he'd have to be in the same room as Snape again in three hours.

He'd thought, when his feelings towards Snape had changed, that things might be easier in class. He'd been _very_ wrong. Instead of being less upset by Snape's treatment of him, Harry was more upset by it. Every insult, every sneer, was a reminder that he'd never be anything except an annoying, hated student. And now he felt eager to do well in potions, so as the year passed, he became more and more stressed. If he failed potions, Snape would be contemptuous as well as hateful. Harry didn't think he could handle that.

He threw down his quill in exasperation, and looked into the fire. What was the point. Now that he knew where Snape's hatred came from, nothing had changed. He could hardly go up to the older man and say "I know you're gay, and I know my dad was an ass to you, but do you think we could hook up some time?" Harry snorted at the thought.

Ron had entered the common room without Harry hearing him, and flung himself down in an armchair near his friend. He let out a long sigh before speaking. "That's torn it. I've got about an hour's homework for McGonogal, two hours for Binns, that essay for Flitwick, and that bloody History of Magic test on Monday. When am I supposed to do any of that? I've got quidditch!"

Harry nodded. "Tough. Hermione'll lend you notes for Binns though."

"No, that's the thing. She's mad about that again. Says she's not doing any more of our work for us."

Harry looked horrified. "She can't do that!"

Ron gave him a disgusted look. The disgust, Harry noted, was more for Hermione than him. "Right, Mate. Thanks. You oughta let her know that."

"Bloody hell."

The two of them stared moodily into the fire for a few minutes, before Ron broke the silence. "What are you working on?"

"Essay for Flitwick. I've got detention with Snape."

"For messing up that potion? Hermione told me about it." Ron had quit potions, quite happily, and guffawed loudly whenever Hermione complained of the homework. He managed (only just) to be sympathetic towards Harry. "That wasn't your fault though, was it? He distracted you."

_Ya,_ Harry thought. _He always distracts me. But when he's whispering in my ear, it's all I can do not to bloody faint._ He smirked at the thought, but didn't share the joke with Ron. As yet, Ron and Hermione didn't know anything about Harry's being gay. He'd almost told them over Dean, but had been saved the necessity of doing so when Dean had broken up with him. Something about not wanting Seamus to find out.

"Ya, but since when does Snape ever admit that? And besides, I think it was more for spilling potion all over him."

Ron laughed loudly, and Harry tried to disguise his annoyance. Another hard thing about falling for Snape was that he had to put up with hearing all the jabs towards his crush, without being able to defend him.

"Look, I've got to go do some homework before Hermione gets back from the library. If she sees me working, she'll be more likely to help me with History of Magic, right?"

"Urm. Good luck." Harry went back to his own homework, feeling considerably better, though he didn't know why. Friends were always good for that. At least, Ron was. Hermione's solutions all too often involved working harder, or discussing problems in great length.

The next few hours passed in silence between them, punctuated by Ron's frequent glances toward the clock, and "Where _is_ she? I'm almost bloody finished."

Finally it was six o'clock, and Harry reluctantly, but almost eagerly, put his books away and made for the potions classroom.

He was met with a very angry looking Snape, sitting at his desk, a glare firmly fixed on his face. "Potter. Sit."

Harry, uncertain of what was to follow, sat down nervously. Snape got to his feet and walked several meters forwards, bending down so his face was only inches from Harry's. Harry could barely breathe.

"Define 'private', Potter."

Harry's heart stopped. And started again with a lurch. He _couldn't _know. He couldn't! His eyes darted involuntarily to the cupboard, and he was horrified to see that it hung open. He hadn't shut it! Snape, of course, didn't miss the flicker, and Harry tried not to gulp audibly. "Urm. Personal. Something that not everyone needs to know about…?"

Snape slapped his hands down on the desk, hard, and Harry flinched. "Yes, Mr. Potter, you've got it! In essence, private means NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Harry shrank back involuntarily. He'd _never_ heard Snape speak in anything other than a low voice. Snape was the sort who got quieter as they got angry. If Snape was yelling at him now…well, frankly, Harry would rather be somewhere else.

"Or does that concept not exist for living legends?" Snape appeared to pull himself under control, and leaned back, lowering his voice to a fast, furious hiss. "Potter, you will find that I always know when my privacy has been disturbed. _Always._ And if I find you have been snooping even one more time, the consequences will be dire. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

The look Harry was getting now, one of absolute hatred and contempt, was far worse than the furious one. He looked down, unable to keep eye contact. When Snape spoke again, his voice was loaded with disdain. "

Indeed. I think you take my meaning. I also wish you to remember, Potter, that it is not your God-given right to know everything about everyone else. Despite Dumbledore's indulgence, I will not put up with such invasions. Some things are better left unknown. And," his voice was now a furious whisper, "some things are none of your business."

Harry nodded, unable to look up.

"Very well. You'll be cleaning my store cupboards. Anything that is alive, stun it and bring it to me. Anything growing mould needs to be disposed of. Check things off this list. Anything missing needs to be reported to me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir." If Harry hadn't already been disgusted with himself, his tone of voice would have clinched it. He sounded pathetic. With a great effort, he forced himself to meet Snape's eyes. His bravery, admittedly, didn't last very long. Those eyes were _very_ angry.

The potions master dropped a piece of paper on the desk, turned on his heel, and strode away, sitting down at his own desk and angrily conjuring himself red ink. _I pity whoever's having their paper marked right now._ Harry doubted the poor person would be getting anything higher than a 'T'.

All through the next hour, he felt Snape's eyes on him, glaring. He had to sit with his back to the teacher's desk, and did not turn around once, but he could feel the other man's eyes on him, sending shivers up his spine. Finally, after two hours, he heard the silky voice again.

"That will do, Potter. You may go."

Harry nodded, without looking up, and moved to the doorway.

"You need not come back again. One detention is sufficient, I believe."

Harry looked up, startled, and met the cold eyes again. They were unreadable, but radiated hatred. He gulped and nodded again. Then he crossed to the door, opened it, and stopped, half through, saying, very quickly, without turning around, "Sir, I'm sorry. It was an accident."

"Get out, Potter." Harry got out, realizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he'd just confirmed everything that Snape hated about him. And he wasn't going to be able to make this better.

A/N Just a note: some Harry/Dean might happen in the next chapter, so be forwarned.


	4. Chapter 4

ALL REVIEWERS: thanks! I need advice though. Should Harry tell Sev, or should Sev find out accidentally (example: reading harry's diary/using occulemcy on him/hearing him talk in his sleep,etc.) I'm leaning towards Sev finding out accidentally, but i'm open to advice. IF ANYONE HAS ANY IDEAS WHERE THIS FIC SHOULD GO, PLEASE TELL ME. I have no ideas. I'm just making it up as I go along, and I'm getting kinda nervous... Eyeinthesky: Thanks for the advice...I'll keep it in mind. Sev MIGHT find out accidentally, but Harry might pluck up the courage to tell him. Opinion? GordoLuv4Life8988: Will do my very best. Enemywithin7: Thanks awfully for reviewing, by the way...I've got NO idea what's going to happen next, so advice would be welcomed. Kai Fong and animegurl088: glad you like. sorry, but I'm not going to respond to everyone personally unless the reviews I get are more than two words :D snapehermionelover: I really like snape/hermione fics too. I might think about writing one after I'm finished this one... Frankly, I think if Harry propositioned Sev right now, he'd get disemboweled. I need to somehow get them on friendly terms before anything happens. if you're still wondering about Harry having a fling, just read the chapter! 

The detentions were over. At least, he thought, he could be grateful for that. And he was grateful…in a way. Being in a room with Snape, knowing that the older man hated him, was impossibly painful. But not being near him was far worse.

Harry sat up in bed, glaring moodily at his pillow as if it were the cause of all his problems. _Why can't that stupid man think of me as something other than my father's son? _

He looked down at his watch, gleaming faintly in the dark, and flung himself down on his pillow, groaning into it. Five o'clock. Damn it, he couldn't even _sleep_ now! _Obsessions are _not_ healthy_, he told his inner self sternly. His inner self didn't respond, except to send him a picture of those long, thin hands.

And what they could be doing to him.

Harry punched his pillow, his face still buried in it, and got to his feet, rubbing his eyes. At least he could shower in peace at this time of day. It made him uncomfortable to shower in the crowded room, to resist ogling some of his housemates. Dean in particular made him nervous, since the other boy seemed to constantly seek his eyes.

Harry hissed when the cold water hit him, and fumbled at the hot water nob, swearing. It was turned on completely, but the water coming from the nozzle was icy. _Some days you can just tell aren't going to work out. _But something corrected itself in the system, and the water came down suddenly hot, just on the line between comfortable and painful. _Sooo_ nice. Harry stretched like a cat, thinking again of Snape's hands. And voice. How could someone be insulting him and sound so sexy? Snape, he realized, was the only one who didn't care about his reputation. Snape was the only one who judged him by something other than his scar. Of course, judging him by his father wasn't much better, but they could work on that.

He looked ruefully down at himself. He'd had interesting dreams, and his cock was hard still. Sliding a hand down his body, feeling slightly guilty, he turned to face the wall, leaning against it with one hand and using the other to stroke himself.

_Severus_. The name in his thoughts that he'd never have the right to use. _Severus touching me…trailing kisses…_

Harry bit his lip to keep from shouting his teacher's name and waking people up. Just the picture of Severus walking down the hallway was enough to harden him. When he thought of that voice whispering his name, shivers went all down his arms.

He was almost there. Harry strained into his hand—

"So who are you thinking about these days?"

Harry jumped, his erection going down so quickly that he shook it, limp, out of his hand and looked up.

Dean Thomas. "What?" Harry asked stupidly.

Dean smiled, and, unthinking, Harry smiled back. Dean had always had that effect on him. The smile was completely without malice, and it always put you off your guard.

"Well, you're not thinking about me anymore. You don't even look at me in the showers, right? So I was wondering who you've been thinking about lately when you jerk off."

Harry wiped the grin off his face with difficulty (old habits are hard to break). "Not really your business. You broke up with me, remember?"

"Not technically my business, no, but that doesn't stop me from being curious, does it?" Dean sat down on a bench, cross-legged, and grinned again.

"You look like a wolf when you do that." Harry immediately wished he hadn't said it. He'd gotten over Dean, with difficulty, and didn't want to go through it again. Flirting was decidedly _not_ a good idea. "How's Seamus?" With satisfaction, he noted that he'd managed to get rid of the grin. Replacing it was a sour look.

"Actually, that's partly what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh." Harry didn't make it a question. All hope of a private shower seemed to be gone, so he reached over and snagged his towel from a peg, wrapping it around his waste.

"Don't do _that_." Dean wrinkled his nose flirtatiously. "I was enjoying the view!"

"I noticed." Damn it, he couldn't afford to flirt with Dean.

"Look, about Seamus." Dean noted the look on Harry's face and hurried on, "I know you probably don't want to talk about him, but I needed to have a word with you. I mean, you know that the reason I ended things was because it was going to far, and I wasn't ready to tell Seamus about it? Well I might as well have not gone through with it, because he found out. He's been avoiding me for a bit." Dean looked here so pathetic that Harry felt rather sorry for him, even while being angry. "I was right when I thought he mightn't like the idea. He said that he didn't mind so much, but if I was actually with anyone, that was it. He doesn't want…doesn't really want to be around it." This last seemed particularly hard to get out.

"Well that shouldn't be a problem, because you're not, are you?"

"No, but I told him to shove it."

This surprised Harry. "Why?"

"Cause…I dunno, Harry." He looked extremely uncomfortable. "I guess I started thinking about us, and…remember that Hogsmeade visit?" Harry nodded in spite of himself. "Well I started thinking how stupid I'd been to break up with you."

Dean wouldn't look at him. Harry could have laughed. Three months ago, he'd have laughed and kissed Dean, and been happier than he'd ever been. Now he wasn't sure he wanted the other boy back.

"Look…"

"I know you probably don't want me back." He was bright red now. "But I had to tell you, because I really…well I missed you. I'd like to give it another shot." And he stood up and crossed over to where Harry stood, leaning against the wall. "I'd like _you_ back."

Dean reached up and ran his fingers gently through Harry's wet hair, and pushed him lightly against the wall. Almost automatically, Harry's hands found the other boy's hips, and they closed the distance between themselves and found each other's lips.

The kiss was slow and tentative. It had been four months since Dean had broken things off, but he still, Harry thought with some surprise, tasted the same. Things had gone very far with him, and Harry felt his body react on its own. Their tongues tangled in Dean's mouth, and he groaned quietly.

They pulled apart finally, and grinned at each other. "I guess that means yes?" Dean cocked his head to the side a little, and Harry couldn't resist. "How about you give me a hand job, then we'll see?"

"Fair enough." Harry leaned his head against the wall as Dean nuzzled his neck, slipping a hand into his towel. "Let me help you with that…"

Harry and Dean raced in the potions door, a second after the bell went, and stood there, trying not to meet each other's eyes, and doing their best not to laugh. Harry looked up, distracted, to meet Snape's eye, and the smile was utterly gone from his face. That familiar lurching in his stomach settled in.

What was going on? He'd only just gotten out of the shower with Dean. He'd just come moments ago. He shouldn't, _couldn't_ be feeling lust for someone else. It wasn't fair to Dean for one thing.

But his stomach (and the regions below) didn't care about Dean. His eyes locked with the professor's, and he found himself imagining Snape in the same position Dean had been in a moment ago. And was dismayed to find himself growing hard again.

He tore his eyes away from the object of his desire, and looked at Dean, who winked.

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Thomas. You are late. Twenty points from Gryffindor. Be seated before I make it detentions."

They were seated. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, shrugging off their questions, and Dean sat with Neville. Seamus pointedly ignored them both, although he blushed right down his neck.

Harry spent the rest of the lesson in agony. Dean, cheerful as always, kept sneaking glances at him. The whole thing was made far, far worse, by the fact that Dean was so happy, so very happy to have him back. And he didn't deserve Dean. Not one bit.

Dean looked at him again, wrinkled his nose, and went back to working. Harry felt sick. He looked up to the front of the room, and met Snape's eyes. They were very black, and looked confused. _What, wondering why I'm looking miserable while Dean looks like he just got a field day? You'll never guess._

Feeling defiant, Harry glared at his professor until Snape looked down. _You'll never guess, and I'll never tell you._

"Potter." He was jolted out of his thoughts. "Remain after class."

"Yes, Sir."

Snape got to his feet, still directing his glare at Harry, and looked with faint disgust at the rest of the class. "Quills and wands down." As always, the quiet voice was obeyed immediately. "I wish to have your undivided attention."

His eyes met Harry's, and Harry felt himself shiver slightly. There _had_ to be something besides hatred behind those eyes.

"As you undoubtedly have realized, you will be leaving this school at the end of this year. And, as Professor Dumbledore tells me, I will be in need of an assistant in the coming year." There was muttering for a second; this sort of thing was entirely unheard of. But Snape raised an eyebrow and the whispering stopped. "Now I would prefer this assistant to be from my own house, but, as I am informed by your headmaster, equality must be shown among the houses. So whichever of you manages to achieve the highest mark in my potions class, regardless of NEWT outcomes, will be offered this post. I will discuss the details with you when the time comes. If this student, whoever you may be," everyone glanced surrepititously at Hermione, "does not want the post, it will go to the next highest. Is that understood?"

There was a general muttering, which Snape ignored. "Then you are dismissed."

As they all rose to leave, Snape caught Harry's eye again. "Except you Mr. Potter. My desk. Now."

Harry, feeling yet again that he'd screwed things up, avoided looking at Hermione, Ron, and Dean as he made his way to the front of the classroom. If only he still hated Snape, everything would be simpler. He could go back to being happy with Dean, and forget about everything else. But NO. He'd had to fall for the crankiest person in the school. He tried not to smile at the thought of Professor Snape being referred to as 'cranky'.

"Potter, you are a disgrace."

_What is it that I do to make him so angry?_

"If it did not go against my policies, I would have you thrown out of my class. However," he tapped his fingers together, "Professor Dumbledore does not approve of such things." Snape fixed Harry with another glare. "You will not be late for this class again, or I will do something about it. Now get out of my sight."

Harry left.

The rest of the day passed so quickly that Harry felt he had no time whatsoever to think. What he needed, of course, was not so much _time_ as _space_. Space _away_ from Dean, and definitely away from Snape. If he could only get Snape out of his head, things would be better. But every time he thought of Dean, or so much as saw him smile, Harry found himself picturing his teacher in Dean's place.

Finally, exhausted and confused, he threw himself into his favorite chair and stared listlessly into the fire. _I wonder how hard it is to work a memory charm on yourself…_

"Harry!"

Dean grinned at him and flopped down in an armchair beside him. "Do you have a minute? I was wondering if I could borrow Hedwig. You could come up to the owlery and get her for me." His voice faltered for a second when he saw Harry's face. "Or if you're tired, that's ok. I can always use one of the school owls."

"Na. It's never a problem. Just give me a sec. I feel like someone set a bludger on me." It was true. The worries of his mind seemed to have transferred themselves to his body. Every inch of his back was in pain, and his neck twinged every time he bent it. Getting up was horribly painful, but Harry decided it was worth it for the grin on Dean's face.

They walked together, carefully not touching, until they'd reached a secluded corner. Harry, feeling more than slightly guilty about his straying thoughts, tugged Dean out of the way of prying eyes, and kissed him soundly. When they pulled apart moments later, Dean's smile was even wider.

"What was that for?"

"I missed you." As he said it, Harry realized with some surprise that it was true. Dean made him smile. "But don't get too comfortable…I'm planning on going back to my usual self as soon as I've gotten used to having you around again!"

"I can live with that. I'd better take advantage while this lasts though…"

It was a while before they ducked into the hallway again, slightly breathless, but laughing. It was, Harry realized, good to laugh. He should do it more.

They made it to the Owlery without further incident. Barely. Then, since the Owlery was deserted, they took their time sending Hedwig off. Harry had missed, not just Dean, he found, but the whole experience of being in a relationship. Whenever their hands touched, tying a parcel onto the owl's leg, whenever their eyes met. Dean was more inclined to blush than Harry was, and there was a great deal of laughter.

Then, after Hedwig had winged away, impatient with both of them, there was a long kiss in the dark. The moon was just coming out, and it brought out silver highlights in both boy's hair. They clung to each other, Harry trying to banish thoughts of a certain other person, while at the same time intoxicated by the smell of Dean. He kept seeing Snape before his eyes, but it was more than that. There was a certain presence that Snape always radiated, and it suddenly seemed to be all around Harry. He pulled back from Dean for a second, and looked over his own shoulder.

And there was Snape.


	5. Chapter 5

**(A/N: Just a note to readers. I haven't written anything on fanfiction before, and I didn't realize you got so many reviews (incidentally, I'm writing something about Draco and Ginny, and I don't have half the reviews…I think this pairing's more popular. But I'm not going to reply to your review on here unless you ask a question, or say something that needs answering…I don't think it's really fair to subject everyone to reading a page and a half of review responses…thanks everyone for reviewing though. Special thanks to Eyeinthesky, snapehermionelover, and Source of Silence.) **

AislinnNicole1: No, I'm ashamed of harry for just going back to dean like that. what a wuss. But he really LIKES dean...or he DID. until a certain someone else caught his eye. He really just likes dean as a friend now, but he doesn't realize it. I really like your ideas, and I might snitch them, but you'll have to wait and see...thanks for reviewing! 

von-vlad-dracul: There will be no misstreating of Potter. I don't like to give away what's going to happen, but that is distinctly unlikely. 

Tyleet27: (grumbling) ya you. I wasn't looking forward to answering this review, but I really have to. I mean, you did write the longest review, and you showed that you're actually interested, and you're actually reading the story, so I my concience wouldn't let me ignore you. The reason I was grumpy about answering it is because (step up close and I'll whisper it) YOU MADE ME FEEL ASHAMED OF MYSELF. Yes, as you surmised, I have written things before. Not fics, no, but I've spent my whole life (ya, the whole sixteen years of it) writing. I don't really know what to do with fics, because they're not MINE. I only know the characters kind of through someone else, if that makes sense. I mean, if I write something, I know the characters really well. I know stuff that they would and wouldn't do. Only JKR really knows Harry and Sev that well. But i'll get my act together. I've actually figured out a rough sketch of what's going to happen, so I will stop asking reviewers for ideas (they're always free to give them, however). You didn't come off as condescending or pompous. I'm flattered that you liked my writing enough to put so much effort into helping me. And yes, I'll get going on dangling you all on hooks, fair enough? Mwahahaha. All powerful and all knowing...that's me! Seriously, thanks. I'm grateful that you took the time to go through all that, and impressed by what you said. It made sense. Appologies. I hope you keep reading, of course, because it'd be awsome to have you keep reviewing. I'm selfish that way. Thanks though. 

Harry took the opportunity to look at Snape without his trademark sneer in place. The man looked absolutely stunned. Dean made a noise that sounded like 'ahem' and Harry turned to look at him. They were still standing close together, their arms around each other, and Dean's face had been bent a little (he was a few inches taller than Harry) for another kiss.

Harry looked at Dean, so close to him, and Snape's face jumped into his mind. He saw Snape in the same position Dean was in, bending his head down to seek Harry's lips, a half smile on his face, Harry whispering that forbidden name. _Severus_. Hearing that voice purring in his ear.

Harry pulled himself together. Now was _not_ the time for fantasies. The real Snape was looking at them in what resembled shock more than lust.

Dean looked more terrified than turned on now, but Harry could feel himself growing hard at the thought of Snape holding him, and disentangled himself from the other boy, hoping he hadn't noticed.

Snape shook his head and seemed to pull himself together, marginally. "Potter. Thomas. What—?"

Neither of them moved, as their teacher's eyes flitted between them. Finally he sighed. "Public displays of affection are, in fact, frowned upon at Hogwarts. Get out of my sight, the pair of you, before I decide to enforce the rules."

They looked at each other, unable to believe their luck. They must have looked incredulous indeed, because Snape snorted, sounding entirely unlike himself, and said, "very well. Fifty points from Gryffindor. _Each_. Now go to your dorm before I decide to make it worse."

They went. Halfway down the stairs, Dean shot Harry a look and a trademark grin. "Close call, eh? I don't know what's gotten in to Snape, though. I've seen him take more points than that for just getting in his way. I mean, you'd think he'd be perfectly happy to punish you, right?"

"How come?" Harry was only barely concentrating on the conversation.

"Cause he hates you, mate, remember? Hello, Harry? Are you even here?"

Harry turned to look at him, suddenly angry. "He does _not_ hate me."

Dean gave him an unreadable look. "Right. And it's raining mice on Jupiter."

"I'm serious. What's wrong with you anyway?"

"What's wrong with _me_?" Dean looked taken aback. Then his puzzled expression slowly faded, and comprehension dawned. Harry did _not_ like the look on his face now. It was angry and bitter, and far too much like Dean somehow _knew_.

"That's it."

"What? I can't read your thoughts, you know."

"No, but I can read yours. Or rather, your not so subtle body language. You've been thinking about _him_, haven't you?"

"What? I don't know what—"

"Oh shut up, Harry. I asked you, remember, who it was you think about now? And it's him, isn't it? It's _Snape_?" He whistled. "Good luck with that."

"Dean, it's _not_."

"No? You went hard awfully quick when he showed up, didn't you? You must have it pretty bad."

"Dean!"

Dean turned to him, looking miserable. "So now what? Don't bother, by the way. I can tell from your face that I'm right."

"What do you mean, now what?"

"Well, is it a physical thing, or do you have a crush, or are you…I dunno. Are you in _love_ with him?"

Harry gulped. "I don't know."

"So is this it then?"

Harry looked at Dean, who for once wasn't grinning, and felt a stab of horrible guilt at banishing that smile. "Dean, I like you. I _really_ like you. You make me laugh when no one else does."

"Ya, but do you like me as a guy?"

He considered. Snape was his fantasy. Snape was also unreachable, for the moment.

"Yes, I do." Dean was looking dubious, and Harry felt he owed a bit of an explanation. Snape's my…my fantasy, I guess." The look he was getting now was worse than the one before, and Harry rushed to get the next words out. "But it's not real. I think maybe I just like his hands. Don't you find him sexy? But I really care about you. I don't think we should end this."

Dean nodded, and kissed Harry lightly. "If you think so. I missed you." That famous grin was back, and Harry found himself automatically smiling back.

_Was it true, what I said?_ He pushed the thought from his head. _Of course it was. In love with Snape? How could anyone be in love with him? Not possible._

But that night, in the dark, Harry knew better. Sev—_Snape!_ Had laughed, almost, when he'd seen the incredulous looks on their faces. What would it take to make him laugh again? What would it take to make him laugh properly, throwing back his head and letting himself go? Harry realized, feeling slightly shocked, that he wanted to _know_ his potions master. He didn't just want to touch him; he wanted to talk to him.

Dean had used the word first, and Harry knew he'd recoiled initially. _Love_. Could he be in _love_ with Snape?

Could he be the victim of a love potion? Anything was possible. Love potions were, in fact, far more plausible than actually falling for Snape.

Unable to clear his mind, Harry fell into sleep, still confused.

He was late for detention. Harry hurried down the hall, breathing hard, terrified (though he didn't really know why).

He was late.

The door loomed ahead of him, and he stopped, panting, in front of it, trying to slow his heartbeat down. He couldn't be out of breath when Severus saw him.

He reached for the door, to push it open, but it moved under his fingertips, and he looked up to see a smiling Severus holding it open for him. "Harry."

"Hi Sev." Harry, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, stood on tiptoes to kiss his teacher on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late."

He walked inside, stopping as the door shut behind him, and winked at the older man.

Who responded by pushing him roughly up against the door, pinning his arms above his head.

"Tease."

Those lips descended on his, a tongue roughly forcing its way into his mouth and licking the inside of his cheek. One hand held his arms up, imprisoned, while the other reached inside his shirt and stroked his stomach in lazy circles.

Unable to help it, Harry let out a moan of pleasure, pressing his mouth even more firmly against Severus's.

Of course, the second he deepened the kiss, Severus moved back and placed his mouth over Harry's ear, tickling the lobe with his tongue and whispering harshly, "What is it you want, Harry?"

That hand moved lower, stroking Harry's thighs, very lightly, and still the voice went on, whispering. Whispering unthinkable things, impossible, wonderful things that left Harry breathless from imagining them.

"Do you want me to touch you, Harry?"

"Yes…!"

"Ooh. Eager? How badly do you want me?"

Harry strained towards the hand that was—nearly—touching him. That voice. His head lolled back against the stone door, and he felt Severus sucking at the base of his neck.

"Please, Sev!" It was almost a scream.

"Very well…" Harry felt Severus's hand finally move up his thigh, firmly grasping and stroking him while the man's mouth devoured the white skin on his neck. Little nips and licks formed a line from his ear to his collarbone, and Harry moaned again, more urgently this time.

He was rewarded by the removal of the mouth and the hand, and a quiet whisper in his ear. "Turn around…"

Without waiting for an answer, Severus spun him around, releasing his pinned arms, and slid his long-fingered hands up his pupil's shirt, stroking Harry's chest. Harry braced his arms against the stone in front of him and tried not to collapse.

Slowly, slowly, article by article, their clothes fell to the floor, until, when his need had gone almost beyond bearing, Harry felt Severus pounding into him, slamming him against the wall, his hands stroking Harry's erection gently, a contradiction to his other, rougher motions.

Harry, moaning, drove his hips back into the older man's…

And suddenly the wall in front of him had vanished. He found himself looking up at his own four canopy bed, still panting, a wetness seeping through his blankets. What? That dream…Harry was shaken. It seemed that even if he was willing to deny what he felt, his subconscious was most decidedly not. He muttered a quiet cleansing spell over his sheets and pulled his glasses on. Tuesday.

It was a Tuesday. And his first class was double potions.

Harry groaned and rolled over, covering his head with his pillow, and screamed into the mattress.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**

** Tyleet27: ya, you again! Trust me, I'm planning on following your advice, but if I happen to screw up, be sure to let me know. lol Yes, I know Harry's being unfair to Dean...people keep telling me that. But it's happening for two reasons. Firstly, Harry is not perfect. He screws up sometimes, and right now is one of those times. Secondly, Harry's confused. Poor boy. Dean really likes him, and for a while, before he started falling for Sev, he really liked Dean too. So he's all messed up inside, and can't figure out what to do. This is probably going to end up being a pretty long fic, so be ready to stomach a bit more of Dean before our main characters finally come to their senses... Sev's reaction in a nutshell; he gets drunk. **

AislinnNicole1: Well of course YOU knew he was in love! From an outsider (like Dean and you) it's pretty damned obvious. But I think Harry's a bit thick headed. Maybe I should give him some hints... this chapter is Sev's point of view. I'd kinda written it before I read your review, but you can pretend it's for you, if you like! lol. And ya, I've had LOTS of mornings like that. Poor Harry. Poor Dean. Poor Sev. I'm so mean to all of them! Aren't you glad you're not a character in something I'm writing? 

Enemywithin7: Thanks! glad you like...keep reading, and, more importantly, keep reviewing! 

Raphael Argai Thanatos: Oooh. thanks! Now I feel all warm and mushy inside! lol 

snapehermionelover: I liked the ending too. I was proud of myself. Be patient with Harry and Dean...things might get worse before they get better.Hi. Thanks so much everyone for reviewing. This chapter is for all the people who like this story enough to have it on their favorite's list, but not enough to review it. 

... 

Severus had a headache. That he knew for sure. What he wasn't certain of was the cause.

Possibly it was due to having stayed up all night, unable to get a certain black haired boy from his past to GET OUT OF HIS BLOODY MIND and STAY in the past.

Or perhaps it had been the parcel he'd received anonymously, which had promptly exploded on his desk, burning an entire pile of first-year tests before he managed to extinguish it.

Or it could even have been the chat he'd had with Albus, seemingly never-ending, while they discussed how he could best convince the Dark Lord of his loyalties. Albus, for all that Severus owed him everything, did not seem to notice how horribly tired his spy was. How he wanted nothing but sleep, no matter how little, and damn the consequences.

Or it could have been the Firewhiskey.

Yes, Severus thought wryly, glancing at the near-empty bottle on his charred desk, definitely the Firewhiskey.

And the bottle was still not empty…

With a wrench, he pulled himself from temptation and vanished the bottle (and it's remaining alcohol) with an exhausted wave of his wand. A waste, but he couldn't show up to teach a potions class with alcohol in his system. Firewhiskey, even in moderation, tended to…loosen him up, and since his reputation was the only thing he was currently capable of upholding, he wasn't keen on destroying it.

Despite this excellent logic, Severus wanted nothing more than to get good and truly drunk, and pass out on his couch. Baring that, he wanted to numb his mind so he didn't have to, couldn't, think today.

Seventh-year potions first thing, a nasty voice whispered in his head. You'll be seeing him soon…

Mentally snarling at himself to shut up (he was certainly not at his intellectual peak this morning) Severus stormed over to the cupboard and pulled out the basin he was rapidly becoming addicted to; Albus's pensive. He had a good few hours before he had to teach the Potter boy. He needed to get his thoughts collected. Get his head around what he'd seen.

A picture of another bottle of Firewhiskey bloomed invitingly in his head, but he squelched it. He needed to get his thoughts collected without alcohol. Damn the boy, he thought savagely. Why did Potter have to look so much like his father? Why? There were so many painful memories connected with that face that Severus pick one to start with.

The first one, the one that had started all the misery that was his school life, was already there. Severus, wanting to smash something, held his wand to his temple and pulled out the next memory that was to do with James.

The entrance hall is crowded. A fourteen year old Severus sits at the table for breakfast, resolutely not looking at the Gryffindor table. He remembers last night all to clearly, indeed, cannot get the conversation with James out of his head. "…you're disgusting…

And, he thinks miserably, he is disgusting. He'd really thought that James might be interested. Delusional.

He is concentrating so hard on not looking at anyone that he doesn't notice when most of them have left. He only looks up when he hears a noise behind him, someone clearing their throat. He turns.

James and two boys Severus doesn't recognize are there, looking at Severus as if he's some horrible stain they'd like to wipe out. He knows, immediately, that James is not coming to apologize for his words the night before.

He stands up, feeling that he'd be happier facing the three of them on his feet, and the taller, scruffier one pushes him hard against the table again. The other boy, a pale, sickly looking teen, looks around nervously. "Are you sure…"

"I'm sure" the scruffy one growls out. "None of the teachers are around. Besides, don't worry…I'm not going to hurt him. I wouldn't sully my hands. I'm just warning him." Here he turns to Severus again. "Listen, you freak."

Freak is worse than disgusting. Severus looks at James, automatically, wanting him to stop the other boy, but immediately wishes he hadn't. James is sneering at him.

"You're not to come near us, you hear?"

Severus gulps, his attention forcibly taken back to the scruffy one.

"You're a pathetic little wanker, and if you take a step near any of us, we'll beat you bloody. Got that?"

"I…"

"Shut up. You make us sick, right Remus?" The pale boy nods, distracted.

"Look, Sirius, there's a bloody teacher coming. Let's go, all right?"

And the scruffy one turns away from Severus, muttering "Bloody queer bastard" under his breath as he does.

They walk away, leaving Severus nearly in tears, not understanding how it could have gone so wrong.

And not knowing that it is going to get much, much worse.

Severus added the memory strand to the silvery liquid, the fury gone out of him. I'd forgotten. The memory had been there, of course, so he hadn't really forgotten, but the pensive made him realize exactly how bad the encounter had been. His sexual preferences had been all around the school in a matter of hours, after that breakfast, and he'd not had a moment's peace for weeks. After that, most of the students seemed to get sick of tormenting him, and left him largely alone. Except Potter, Lupin and Black. And that pathetic toady Pettigrew. They'd nursed a hatred of him that had lasted until graduation.

He'd just avoided them at first, but as things got worse, his own hatred of them had grown until he would have cheerfully murdered any of them.

Freak.

Even after these years, the insults still stung. They still felt true.

And Harry, with that damned face, did more to bring back those insults than anything else. Severus sighed, sinking into an armchair. The young man was probably still asleep, perfectly happy, perfectly peaceful. The boy had probably slept soundly and dreamlessly all night.

James. Just like his father, the boy was damned attractive.

And unlike his father, Harry was gay.

And Severus's student.

With a groan, Severus put his head in his hands. All these years he'd hated Harry for being James' son, for being a sneering, arrogant brat. Was it possible he'd been seeing James when he looked at the boy?

Damn.

It was going to be a long day.

H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/S/H/

Harry flung himself into his seat, not looking at Snape at the front of the room. He would not look at his teacher. He would not see those images again. No.

Despite his resolutions, five minutes of class had not passed before his eyes, drawn almost magnetically, rose to meet Snape's. Instantly he was back in his dream.

Do you want me to touch you, Harry…?

He shivered, those dark eyes locked on his, and shifted in his seat. Snape looked tired. Not just tired from not sleeping for a night; Snape looked as if all his reserves had been used up.

The man was a teacher…how hard could he be working, Harry wondered. Unless Snape had been up all night thinking about him, which he sincerely doubted. Besides, it was a deeper sort of tiredness than you'd get from missing sleep for one night. Snape looked as if he'd not slept well in months, and had no hope of doing so in the near future. The teen suppressed the urge to figure out who it was who was overworking Snape and strangle them. It wasn't his business.

The man's eyes remained focused on Harry's own, and Harry found himself ignoring the lesson to concentrate on the sound of Snape's voice.

Snape's voice saying his name.

With a jolt, Harry pulled himself to the present.

"Mr. Potter, ten points from Gryffindor. Pay attention in class, if you please."

"Sorry, Sir."

The class drifted apart, everyone to their cauldrons, and Harry flipped frantically through his text, trying to figure out what they were supposed to be making. Dean appeared beside him.

"Lost, are we?"

Harry looked up, startled at his voice, and grinned as Dean winked. "Um. A bit. Maybe. What are we supposed to be making?"

Dean took the text from him and flipped to the right page, grinning flirtatiously at him. "Distracted, were you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for the hand."

They went to their separate cauldrons, both lost in thought, and Harry began chopping ingredients. The potion was complicated; he had to pay attention.

Of course, being in the same room as Snape, paying attention to something as boring as a potion was not an option.

Before the end of class, Harry found himself frantically extinguishing the burning mass in his cauldron, fanning the thick blue smoke away from his face.

"Potter." He braced himself. "That was pathetic, even for you. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and detention tonight. You will learn how to properly make this potion, no matter if I have to go over every step with you."

Yes, having Snape hovering over him was really going to help him concentrate. Miserably, Harry nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

It was going to be a long day.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks everyone for reviewing. This chapter, however, is dedicated to all the people who like this fic enough to put it on their favorite's list, but not enough to review. Now, think about this, those of you who do that…since all HP technically belongs to Rowling (may she live forever) the only thanks I get for my tireless efforts are my reviews. And you are getting something for nothing. Don't you feel guilty? Guilty enough to review? Just hit the button and tell me what you think…it's easy…**

Severus always felt better after a few drinks. Particularly if he had those few drinks while terrorizing some student. Particularly if that student was Harry Potter.

So really, this past detention should have made him feel much better. Somehow, though, it had done exactly the opposite.

Over the years, few things had given him so much pleasure as tormenting the Potter boy. It had been the only possible form of revenge on James, since Harry was exactly like his father.

Now, though, there was a shred of guilt muffling the sadistic pleasure he felt, watching Harry clean cauldrons manually.

The boy is not his father.

Severus snorted at the obvious statement. It was indeed obvious. So why had it taken him nearly seven years to figure out?

But he was Severus Snape, and as such, did not feel guilt. He couldn't. Especially not towards the son of James Potter.

Severus growled at his conscious and downed another shot of Firewhiskey.

"Sir? I'm finished." The boy sounded angry, and Severus rejoiced in the suppressed emotion.

Serves the little swot right.

"Do you think so? I don't. Get to work on the shelves."

As Harry, his teeth gritted together, moved to the shelves and began to stand books upright, pulling shredded potions ingredients from them, Severus moved to stand behind him.

"Did you think, yet again, that you are outside school rules, Mr. Potter?"

He smirked as he saw the muscles in the boy's back tighten.

"Potter, that display was disgusting. If it were my decision, I would have you thrown out of the school, along with Thomas."

Harry still didn't respond, and Severus felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. He was unreasoningly angry, he knew. The Firewhiskey had not been a good idea. But there was no stopping himself now.

"At least in this aspect, you are unlike your sadly arrogant father. Even he would have raised a sneer at such behavior."

He tried to stop himself. Somehow, the filter between his brain and mouth seemed to have dissolved. He didn't recognize the words that were coming to him, but he spat them out anyway, hating the taste.

"You're disgusting. A freak, some would say. They'd be right."

Had there ever been a filter where the Potter boy was concerned? Severus couldn't remember ever holding himself back from insulting the enraged teenager before him.

These last words, finally, got a response. Harry flung down the rag he was wiping the shelf with, and turned to face his potions master, fury radiating from his face. "How dare you even talk like that?" His cheeks were very red. "How dare you, when I know perfectly well that you like men yourself!"

Severus stood very still. "We're not talking about me, Potter."

"Maybe we should be! If you can harass me about it, something's definitely wrong!"

"Oh? Pray tell, Mr. Potter. Is it now your intention, not only to be the savior of the wizarding world, but to right all wrongs here in Hogwarts as well? A weighty task, to be sure, but who better to do it than Potter, the wonder-boy, who can do no wrong?"

He would have gone on, spewing out the seemingly endless stream of poison coming from his mind, but he was cut off by Harry.

"Shut up!"

"You insolent little idiot—"

"Shut up!"

Severus saw, with some shock, that Harry's wand was out, pointing at his throat. For a second, feeling fury mount within him, he reached for his own wand, wanting to curse the boy to oblivion. Then, just as suddenly, his anger vanished, and he felt utterly exhausted. He slumped back into his chair, trying to remember when he'd leapt to his feet, when he'd gotten out of control.

"Put that away, Potter."

"No!" The boy's face was flushed. "Not till you apologize for saying that."

Severus sighed. "Harry, put it down. Pulling your wand on a teacher is punishable with expulsion."

Harry's chin was raised defiantly. "Then I've got nothing to lose, do I? Petrificus Totalus!"

Severus went rigid. He felt that, under the circumstances, he would have frozen anyway, from the sheer audacity of the act. Potter had cursed him.

Try as he might, however, he couldn't bring himself to be angry about it. It had been his own damn fault, not being able to shut himself up. Goading the boy past all reason.

But now what?

Unable to shift his features to a glare, Severus tried to shoot daggers from his eyes.

The first thing I do when he lets me go, he thought, will be to apologize. Then I am going to take a thousand points from Griffindor, and let him be grateful I don't expel him.

And, as Harry continued to stare furiously at him, Severus heaved a mental sigh.

Now what, boy?

As he watched, Harry,s face crumpled, and the hand holding the wand fell to his side. "Oh God, now look what you've made me do!" the boy sounded panicked.

Severus wished he could at least talk. This was a very annoying position to be in. No one had hit him with this spell since his school years.

Harry was pacing back and forth in front of him. "If I leave you like this, someone will let you loose, and you'll have me expelled, but if I let you loose, you'll kill me." Severus looked on dispassionately. If his mouth had been free, he would have managed a retort, but as it was, he could do nothing but wait.

"What did you mean about all that?"

Severus sighed and answered the question mentally, wishing he could say it aloud. Good question.

"I know damned well that you're gay too. Sirius told me, ages ago."

He would, wouldn't he?

"So what was all that nonsense?"

Firewhiskey. Far too much of it. You should try it some time and see how polite you are.

Harry stopped pacing and stood in front of him, wand out again. "You have no idea how much I want to hurt you."

I probably even deserve it, don't I? That won't stop me from making you pay as soon as you release me, which you have to eventually.

"I could always Obliviate you."

Damned boy.

"You know what's funny? Even when I really hate you, you're still incredibly attractive."

Potter sounded terrified, as he voiced his next comment, and Severus couldn't blame him. "Hell, how much worse can I make things?"

The boy walked around the desk, turned Severus's chair to face him, and loomed.

You would make a good teacher one day.

"I don't care what my father called you. That doesn't give you the right to take it out on me."

You don't know—

"I am not a freak." Severus could smell the boy, and the scent was familiar, but tantalizingly unknown. He wanted to lean forwards and take a deeper breath.

"And neither are you."

He couldn't think any more. Harry was too close. His eyes and ears and nose were filled with the sight, sound and smell of this person who was not James Potter, who was a thousand times better.

And then Harry leaned forwards and pressed his lips against Severus's.

Severus struggled furiously against the binding curse, wanting simultaneously to kiss Harry back, and to curse him into oblivion. He could do neither. Could not so much as move his lips. Could do nothing but sit in agony, feeling soft lips against his own, black hair brush gently against his forehead.

………………………..

Harry reluctantly ended the kiss, his lips pulling back from the other man's. It hadn't been much of a kiss, of course, since Snape hadn't been able to move, but it was the only one he was ever likely to get from his potions master.

Well, he thought, if I'm going to die, I might as well get it over with.

Pulling out his wand, his fingers shaking, he muttered the counter curse.

And, for a second, Snape just sat there, staring at him. He held his breath, waiting to be cursed or hit.

But neither happened. What happened was that Snape reached out, so quickly that he did not have time to even flinch, and grabbed hold of Harry's robes, pulled the boy forwards, to stand between his knees, and kissed him.

Harry felt his bones turn to molasses. The kiss sent shivers all down to his toes – and to some other areas – and he felt like his brain had frozen. Snape was kissing him.

Tentatively he leaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the older man's neck. Snape's tongue was in his mouth now, and he could feel something hard pressing against his thigh. He wanted this. Very badly. Everything about the situation felt perfectly right. He ran his fingers through Snape's hair, and felt a shock jolt through him as a pair of hands gently flowed down his body and cupped his lower back, pulling him closer. He couldn't go any closer. The position they were in was decidedly awkward, and Harry felt his knees beginning to give.

With great reluctance, he broke the kiss and moved back a little. And felt Snape's arms tighten around him as the man gave a little growl deep in his throat.

Harry's knees almost gave out at that sound alone.

"I'm just—give me a second." The arms loosened, and Harry moved away enough to work his legs around to the outside, straddled his professor, and sat down, moving in again to kiss.

Snape's tongue was roughly shoved into his mouth, and he submitted to it, tilting his head back against the onslaught. He felt the tongue move to his neck, and sucked in his breath as Snape nipped at the skin behind his ear. Harry's eyes were closed. He didn't ever want this to end.

He slid experimentally forwards, their erections aligned, and thrust his hips into the other man's.

Snape bucked against him, grunting, and Harry realized, belatedly, that this was getting out of hand.

He moved back and met Snape's eyes.

"Sir?"

The older man sighed and loosened his arms. "Have you no manners? You are perched on my lap, looking absolutely edible, and you have the audacity to call me Sir? How would you like it if I called you Potter?"

"But then what—?"

"Severus would be acceptable."

"Severus." Harry breathed, hardly daring to believe his luck.

"Now can I get back to devouring you, or did you have something to say?" Harry felt Severus's lips move to the side of his neck again, and he tried to ignore the tongue tracing lines on his skin.

"Severus, I can't do this."

The head snapped back quickly, and disbelieving eyes met his own. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?"

To emphasize his words, Severus moved his hands to Harry's backside, and squeezed it lightly. Harry moaned, trying to keep his head clear.

"I can guess."

"Then shut up and let me get on with it."

"I can't." Harry squirmed, realizing too late that this would not help his problem. "Look, I'm with Dean."

Severus froze.

"I've liked you forever, but I can't do this. Not right now, at least."

Their eyes met and held for a second.

"You should know, Harry," Severus said finally, his voice sending shivers up Harry's spine, "that I am very, very drunk."

"Oh. And I thought that was pumpkin juice you were drinking." Harry nodded towards the nearly empty bottle on the desk, and felt his chest swell as the man beneath him chuckled slightly.

"Not quite."

"What were you saying?"

"I am drunk. If you leave now, doubtless I will come to my senses by our next meeting."

Harry felt his lips captured in another kiss, gasping into Severus's mouth as their tongues met. But Severus pulled back suddenly.

"And, alternatively, if you do not leave now, I will not let you."

Despite himself, Harry felt a delighted tremble work its way down his back. "You're that drunk?"

"You're that edible."  
"Oh." Harry swallowed. "So you're going to hate me again in the morning?"

"Yes." Severus nuzzled the base of his neck. "Unless, of course, you stay, and convince me otherwise. I confess, I am easily persuaded."

Harry moaned, and got a glare. "I wouldn't persist in such noises, unless you want me to decide for you. Now hurry up."

"I don't know. I might be able to think if you'd stop distracting me."

Severus pulled away, and met his eyes again. It was Harry who looked away first.

"I can't."

"Oh."

"It's not fair to Dean. For that matter, it's probably not fair to you, since you're drunk, and you said yourself you'd never be doing this if you were sober."

"I said nothing of the sort."

"It was implied."

"If you're doing me a favor, why am I not feeling grateful?"  
"Because you're drunk. You'll thank me in the morning."

"I doubt it. I'll probably take off points for that body bind."

"I thought you'd forgotten about that. Should I Obliviate you after all?"

Severus groaned, and Harry fought the urge to melt back into his arms.

"You should get off my lap while you still can."

Harry did so, trying not to think that he'd never get this chance again. He leaned forwards, gave Severus one last desperate kiss, which was ferverently returned, and fled, shutting the door behind him.

At least, he thought, I was fair to Dean.

The feeling of loss slowly seeped away, to be replaced by slight pride. Yes, he'd kissed someone else, but he had managed to be strong enough to break it off before it got serious. Dean was a good person. He deserved Harry's respect. It would have been dishonorable to cheat on him. In the morning, he'd think it over, and decide whether to break up with the other teen. The important thing was that he hadn't cheated on his boyfriend.

The feeling of pride and the rush of fondness for Dean lasted all the way upstairs, past the portrait, and into the common room, where he stopped.

Flickering in the firelight was a scene that resembled the one he'd just left. A boy was sitting in an armchair, kissing the neck of the girl who was straddling him, her red hair gleaming in his hands.

The boy, Harry noted distantly, was Dean.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to one and all for your reviews…they are much appreciated.**

**I don't have any experience writing this sort of…ahem…scene…so if I did badly, please let me know, but if it's ok, it'd be nice to hear that too. **

Harry didn't hear himself say anything, but he must have made some kind of noise, because Ginny's head jerked up, and so did Dean's, and they all stared at each other for a long, tense moment, the firelight flickering off her hair, and Dean's eyes, and giving the whole scene unreal lighting.

"Harry?"

Ginny's voice was small, and Harry hardly registered it. His eyes were locked with Dean's eyes, which were unreadable. How could this be happening? Dean wouldn't, would never…

But, interrupted a snide little voice, you were doing the same thing.

"Harry!" Ginny's voice was more insistant now, and Harry glanced at her distractedly. "Is everything ok?"

What a stupid question.

There was, of course, only one answer.

"No." Harry said clearly, his eyes on Dean, "Nothing is ok."

And then, feeling horrible in more ways than one, he turned and made his way up to the boy's dormitories.

At least, the snide voice hissed at him, you weren't with a **female**.

With **Ginny**, Harry thought, despairing. If it had been anyone else, I could hate them, but not Ginny. She's too much of a friend. And she didn't know we were together.

He was only allowed a moment of peace before someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Dean." Harry's voice was flat.

"No." The voice behind him was very quiet, and was very obviously not Dean's.

Harry spun around to face Ginny. Her eyes were shining, and her hair was messed where Dean's hands had tangled with it. Harry wanted to slap her, but resisted.

"Harry, I'm sorry."

He shook his head, to clear it as much as to deny what she was saying. How could an apology be expected to help? And did she even know what she was apologizing for?

"I gave up on you years ago. It just got too painful waiting for you to notice me."

"Huh?" it was the most articulate thing he could manage at the moment.

"I can see it upset you to see me with someone else, but we never had anything, Harry. We couldn't, don't you see? Because it would destroy Ron."

"Yes." He agreed with that. There never could be anything between them. And not just because of Ron.

"Dean said this would happen."

She looked up at him beseechingly, as if begging him not to be angry.

"What?"

"Dean told me you'd be upset, but I didn't believe him."

"When?" It didn't make sense. None of it fit together.

"Two weeks ago when we got together. He said to be careful not to let you see us just yet, because it would bother you."

"Two weeks ago," Harry repeated numbly. Two weeks. It didn't fit. It couldn't be. Dean wouldn't…

"But I really didn't think you were interested in me!" Ginny sounded desperate. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry! I never meant to upset you! I value our friendship; really I do."

"Me too." It seemed like the only honest thing he could manage at the moment.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you won't let this come between us!" And, before he could respond, she'd lunged forwards to hug him, and had dashed away. "I have to find Dean," she called over her shoulder. "He ran off when you went upstairs, and I should tell him you're not mad."

Harry sank onto his bed, trying not to think. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to stop himself. Two weeks. His fuzzy brain tried to make sense of it. If Dean and Ginny had been together for two weeks (and why would Ginny have lied?) then Dean…Dean had been cheating on him.

Dean had been cheating on him.

And then another thought intruded. He, Harry, had just passed up an opportunity to be thoroughly fucked by Severus Snape.

Harry shook his head to clear away the thought of Ginny and Dean, and ran down the stairs and out of the common room.

By the time he'd reached the dungeons, he'd started to have second thoughts. Severus was drunk. Harry would be taking advantage of him, since the man had been all to ready to admit that he'd likely hate him in the morning.

But he wanted this so badly.

He didn't really come to a decision. Quite independently, his hand rose up and knocked politely three times on the door before coming back to rest at his side.

Harry waited, hardly breathing.

Then, when he'd almost given up, there came a theatrical sigh from inside. "Go away, whoever you are. I am entirely sick of dealing with the problems of other people. I don't care if you're head's been removed and attached to your rear end. It can wait until morning. I am getting thoroughly drunk, and I'm not interested."

Harry knocked again, then brought his head closer to the door and said softly "My head's not attached to my rear end, actually, as far as I know, but if you'd really like me to leave…"

The door flew open, and Harry found himself staring up at a very attractive picture. Severus Snape, his hair interestingly mussed, was looming over him, a glass of something clutched in his right hand.

"Harry," Severus placed his glass on a nearby table and stepped forwards, threading his hands lightly through the boy's hair and tilting his head up, burying his head in the exposed white neck, sucking lightly on it. Then he moved his mouth to meet Harry's, and kissed him soundly, their tongues arching against each other. Finally he drew back and whispered harshly, "If you're not hear to be ravished, boy, I suggest you leave."

Harry, breathless from the kiss, knowing he was half hard already, smiled and stepped a pace back, leaning against the doorframe. "How drunk are you?" he asked, grinning. "Because I'd hate to get all excited only to have you pass out. If you're too drunk for anything interesting, I'd rather find out now…"

Severus growled deep in his throat, and Harry revised his earlier thought about being half hard. He closed his eyes, a delicious shiver running through him.

"I am never too drunk for that, boy, and don't you ever forget it. Nor do I pass out."

And Harry felt his lips captured again, as he was pulled inside, hands resting on his hips. He moved his own hands around his potions professor's neck, closing any remaining distance between them, rubbing himself up against the taller man.

"You are delectable," Severus whispered in his ear, pushing him roughly against the wall, "you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

"You could have just done it," Harry replied, trying to get his lungs to work properly. Long, graceful hands were slipping under his robes now, pushing them off his shoulders and brushing against his bare skin.

Harry gasped as one of those hands made its way south, lingering on his hips, then moving downward to rest on his throbbing erection.

He slipped his own hands into the other man's robes and stroked Severus's chest, feeling muscles under his hands.

And gasped again as Severus began to suck on his lower lip. He managed to pant out, between kisses, "Maybe we should take this somewhere else."

Severus dropped a kiss on his cheekbone and nipped his earlobe, sending shivers down Harry's spine. When he spoke, it was a whisper, directly into Harry's ear, tickling. "Oh, but I was just getting warmed up."

Harry felt his bones turn to liquid. He struggled not to collapse into Severus' arms. "Won't someone hear us..?"

"Who would? And the door is securely locked." Harry couldn't speak. Those long fingers were doing incredible things to him—stroking him, squeezing. He gasped into the older man's mouth, and was rewarded by a light chuckle.

"Besides, Harry, I want you right here, where I've dreamed of having you. I want to take you, hard and fast…"

Harry could hardly think now. He had forgotten how to work his tongue, except for things other than speaking. "You'd better get on with it then," With a supreme effort, he pulled away. "Or I'm not going to last much longer."

He pushed the heavy black robe from Severus's shoulders, watching as it pooled on the floor, and stepped forwards again, running his hands boldly over the white skin. He wanted to memorize every inch of this man, every scar, every mole. Harry lavished kisses on the long neck, biting at the soft hollow behind Severus's ear, moaning against his collarbone.

Finally, when he felt he could last no longer, and the older man's breathing was ragged, interspersed with groans, Harry felt a light breath on his ear, and heard a whisper. "Is this what you want, Harry? Or do you want more?"

Severus's voice was very nearly gentle, and it took on a silky undertone now, unlike anything Harry had ever heard.

"I want…more." His hands grasped handfuls of black hair, and his head was buried in skin that smelled of sandalwood and sweat.

"Turn around." The silk was back full force, almost a purr, and Harry moaned at the sound. He turned around, his back to the potions master, and leaned over a desk, pressing himself against it automatically, wanting contact with anything.

"Lubricadum." The spell was spoken from somewhere close behind him, and Harry felt goosebumps rising along his back. A light kiss was pressed to the hollow between his shoulder blades, and a finger, coated with something slick, entered him. He squirmed impatiently and writhed against the desk.

"Hurry up! Sev—I'm coming soon!"

"Very well…" That voice was driving him to a frenzy. He kept from stroking himself to completion by sheer willpower, and that was giving out.

Then Severus entered him, swiftly, driving him up against the desk, and long slim fingers reached around his hips, grasping his cock and pumping it enthusiastically.

"Fuck me, Severus!"

Harry had never felt anything like this. Nothing with Dean had ever felt so right, so absolutely perfect. Severus's weight behind him was nothing more than an easy pressure, and he found himself wishing it would never end.

But they found their rhythm quickly, and groaned together, Harry spilling his seed over the desk and floor, Severus coming inside him, breathing Harry's name like an incantation, as he thrust into him.

In the second after he came, before Severus did, Harry's head was clear, and he thought, with absolute certainty: this is the best moment of my life.

And then the older man was holding him tightly, arms wrapped around his chest, smoothing hair from his eyes. They were silent for a moment, breathing heavily, and when Severus spoke, it was with a lower, deeper purr than before.

"Harry?"

"Mmm?" Harry was enjoying the sensation of being held, despite the messiness.

"Harry, did I hurt you?"

"No." He wriggled around to face Severus and planted a kiss on his lips, gently, wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck again, and toying with his hair. "That was bloody brilliant. When can we do it again?"

He regretted the question immediately, because a shadow crossed Severus's face. "Let's worry about that tomorrow, Harry."

"Sounds good to me." Harry snuggled closer, nuzzling at Severus's chest hair. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

"Can you…what?" The man sounded surprised.

"I don't fancy walking back to bed just now. Besides, you're going to come to your senses in the morning, right?"

"Presumably." Severus sounded amused.

"Well I want to spend as much time as I can with you."

"How endearing."

The voice was snide, but when Harry looked up into those unrelenting, unyielding eyes, he sensed some warmth. And when he smiled, a smile full of heart-stopping sweetness, Severus's black eyes melted.

"I suppose. I find it unlikely that I will make it to my chambers, however."

"Mmm. Do we really have to move?" Harry was half sitting, half standing, wrapped in Severus's arms, savoring the scent of the other man.

"Lazy as well as incompetent, Potter." Severus drawled. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Fuck me." Harry grinned as if it was obvious. "What else?"

"Incorrigible brat."

"You love it."

"Correct."

And, with another slow, languorous kiss, they made their way down the hallway, and to the potion master's private quarters. And fell fast asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, for a night devoid of nightmares and visions.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry all…it's been a while, hasn't it? You owe this new update to a certain reviewer who I won't name, but will quote from…**

'**WHERE is the bloody update? DAMN IT! I gave you ALL those ideas and you PROMISED you'd be updating soon. Yet I haven't seen ONE new word! RAWR!'**

**Etc. For future reference, if you want me to update THAT badly, you could just say 'get off your ass and update already'…the 'rawr' wasn't really necessary…but I'm grateful to you, cause it's always nice to know people want to read my stuff.**

**Oh yes, and belatedly, a huge thank you to BlackPriestess, who is an incredible writer, and still finds time to send me nice, encouraging reviews, and good advice that I use, and forget to thank her for (until now) **

**AHEM…to the rest of my readers, if you aren't reading BlackPriestess's fic 'Severus Snape, Favorite Enemy', you should be. **

Harry woke up quickly. There was no fuzzy moment, where he wondered where he was. There was no lag between the dream of the Quidditch World Cup, and the dark room smelling of sandalwood. One second he was flying around the pitch, staring at the black-haired Veelas with sharp noses, who smiled and tossed their hair at him, and the next he was staring at another sharp nose, inches from his own, and the few strands of hair that had drifted over Severus Snape's eyelids.

The thin lips of his potions master were twisted into a smile, and Harry resisted the urge to lean forwards and kiss them. He wasn't ready, quite, for Severus to wake up and find him in his bed.

He thought of the previous night, of the desk in the potions classroom that undoubtedly still carried traces of his sperm, and knew he was blushing. What had, a few short hours ago, seemed perfect, now struck him as brash and faintly wrong. He'd spent almost a year lusting after his teacher, thinking that he'd be satisfied with just the physical, and now realized, with a jolt of surprise, that he hadn't gotten what he wanted after all. That the physical wasn't enough.

What he wanted was long afternoons of lazy kisses, those long fingers stroking his hair, and whispered endearments. He wanted to look into those black eyes, and know what thoughts were going on behind them. He wanted Severus Snape, the complete works, not a quick fuck over a desk.

And, even after the quick fuck, Harry had no idea what Severus really thought of him. The older man's face was peaceful, and he looked much more vulnerable than usual, much younger. The thought of him waking up, the thought of seeing that peacefulness change to loathing or disgust was intolerable to Harry.

The wrongness that surrounded his thoughts of their night together was slowly changing into something worse. Guilt. Taking advantage of someone when they're drunk…Harry was disgusted with himself. There was no excuse.

He knew what he should do. He should get dressed and wake Severus up, and apologize for forcing himself on the other man.

But somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't bear the knowledge that Severus would probably hate him again when he woke up.

Harry dressed as quietly as he could, and slipped out the door into the passageway. It was still dark out, and he knew Ron and Hermione would still be sleeping. The Fat Lady would never let him in at this hour…

He'd tell them that he'd fallen asleep studying after his detention. Resolutely, Harry set off in the direction of the library, trying to pull his thoughts away from the room he'd just left. The best thing he could do was leave, so at least Severus didn't have to wake up faced with someone he hated.

Harry had never hated himself more than he did now. Damn it, he'd taken advantage of the man.

It didn't occur to him that perhaps the seduction had gone both ways, and that alcohol had had very little to do with it.

And it didn't occur to him until he lowered himself into one of the stiff-backed library chairs, when it was altogether too late to go back, that he should have left a note.

His first emotion of the day was contentment. This was very unusual, particularly as he was also sporting a hangover.

Severus was used to waking up with hangovers. His dependence on alcohol had intensified over the years, as he realized that the pain resulting from a massive intake of Firewhiskey was definitely worth escaping the pain of the things he'd done, and the thing he was.

When he went to the Dark Lord, he was a Death Eater. Severus the teacher, the follower of Dumbledore, was buried so deeply that the Dark Lord could never see him. It was a protection, and Severus was very, very good at it. At first, he took pride in the lie he lived, and imagined how admired he would be when the Dark Lord was killed. How people would respect him, and marvel at how he'd kept alive for so long.

But as the years went by he retreated further and further behind his masks, afraid that if he let them go at all they would slip one day, and it would be the end of him.

He did horrible, sickening things in service for the Dark Lord, and he found himself thinking longingly, not of life after the war, but of death. Of finally being allowed to die without being plagued by guilt.

Alcohol numbed the self-disgust, the loathing that he felt for the personality he forced himself to wear. Firewhiskey helped him forget what the Death Eater inside him had done.

But it only helped so much.

So Severus was accustomed to hangovers, and he accepted them. What he was not accustomed to, was feeling contented upon waking.

Despite the blinding, head-splitting hangover that he could feel with every beat of his pulse, Severus stretched his arms, his eyes closed, with a feeling of contentment.

And then, when his arms did not connect with another warm human, the contentment vanished, and his eyes snapped open.

His bed, with the obvious exception of himself, was empty.

Of course, he reasoned, when has it not been empty?

His bed had been empty for years beyond counting…

Until last night.

Until last night, when the green-eyed ghost from Severus's school days had come along, and looked at the potions master as if he were attractive.

"Harry Potter." Severus breathed, and looked around, as if the name itself was enough to conjure the boy to his side. He sat up, slowly, and swung his feet over the side of the bed, wincing when they touched the cold stone.

"Harry Potter stepped here." The words sounded ridiculous, and he looked down at the bed again, at the extra pillow one of them must have conjured up, and the rumpled indent in it.

Then, still wondering if he'd dreamed it, Severus picked up the pillow and held it to his face, inhaling sharply, burying his hooked nose in the smell of Harry.

That is not the smell of a dream.

Severus dressed very slowly, stiff in all the wrong places, stiff in a way he had not been in a long time.

By the time he'd dressed and woken up fully, he'd realized that the boy had not left him a note.

_Surprised?_

The more he retreated into his own head, the louder the voices in there seemed to become. Severus never worried about becoming mad, though. He thought, all things considered, that it would be more of a relief if he ever went insane.

_Why would he stay, after all?_

This particular voice was nasty.

I'm hardly something to be desired, after all. I am old, and hardly gentle, and quite probably repulsive. Perhaps he was more inebriated than I.

And then, an even nastier voice, perhaps he's gone to the headmaster.

The worst thing was that Severus couldn't blame Harry if he'd done just that. Damn it, he'd taken advantage of the boy.

Severus had never hated himself so much.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So I went on my computer tonight and read my reviews, and I LOVE you all. I was so touched by the lovely comments I got that I went straight to this story and wrote the next chapter, which is consequently probably pretty bad. But still. Thanks to everyone for reviewing. I love to write, and I wouldn't be able to stop even if a thousand people told me that I'm horrible, but it's so much nicer when I get feedback. Anyway, on with the fic.**

If this was what love felt like, Harry did not want to be in love. He'd never felt so miserable in his life. Comparing the way he felt about Severus and the way he felt about Dean was like comparing the Cruciatus curse to a hangnail.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life following Severus around on his knees, worshiping every freckle, every inch of ivory skin, every silky strand of hair. He didn't know if the yearning he felt was love, and he didn't care. All he wanted was Severus.

He was overcome by horrible guilt at what had happened. But, pathetically, he couldn't bring himself to go down to the dungeons and apologize. He _knew_ how stupid this was. He _knew_ that leaving had been the wrong thing to do, but just picturing that sneer directed at him, full of hatred, was enough to quash his feeling of duty.

Finally, long after Ron and Hermione had gone to bed, Harry sat up, half in a dream, and rummaged around until he found his invisibility cloak. He was going to find Severus.

And he almost made it.

But once he reached the turn off to the dungeons, he found himself walking by the staircases and on towards the front door. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was nothing in the dungeons for him.

And, outside, he found himself walking out towards the lake, to a stand of trees he could see dimly silhouetted against the sky.

He walked, still in the dreamlike daze, into the trees and sat down, the invisibility cloak falling from his shoulders, on a boulder overlooking the lake.

He was here to wait. He was waiting for Severus. He was here to wait.

And, still waiting, his head began to droop, and he fell headfirst into sleep.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Love is like foot rot. Once it's got you, it's impossible to shake. He couldn't remember where he'd heard that, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it might have been from his father. It did sound like something the old man would have said.

Now that he'd put a face to the quote, he could remember the scene perfectly. And you know what else, boy? Love stinks. You can tell that to your mother; go on, tell her I said it.

He shook himself free of the memory and frowned at himself. Love was not a topic that had been much in his mind, the past few years, but now he could think of little else.

Not that Severus Snape was in love. No. What he had was a powerful obsession, stemming from a certain boy's uncanny resemblance to his attractive father. Severus Snape could _not_ be in love with Harry Potter, because Severus Snape did not _believe_ in love.

Love was a fictional emotion created by hopeless romantics pining after the idea that everyone has a soulmate, not wanting to face the reality that some people simply end up old and lonely, instead of happy ever after. Love was _definitely_ not real, and _definitely _not something you could feel for a seventeen year old who's fourteen years younger than you, who you have virtually raped.

He didn't see Harry at any meals, and after the boy failed to turn up to his potions class, Severus was reasonably sure that he was being avoided.

What he needed, he decided, was a long walk around the grounds. Perhaps he could find somewhere to sit that was out of the way of the castle, so Albus wouldn't come pry, as he was wont to do. Severus found a heavy cloak in his wardrobe and pulled it out. The night was cold, and he wasn't planning on freezing to death, no matter how much self-disgust he was feeling.

So he set off along a path outside the castle, briskly looking around at the dark forest and the still lake.

There was a grove of trees by the lake that would hide him from the castle, he thought, and made for it. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted just now, but it involved solitude. He needed to think about the Potter boy.

But when he reached the trees, he stopped short. It was bad enough that he was developing a dependence on alcohol, but it was worse by far to see visions.

Because what he saw before him, draped sensuously over a boulder, a light breeze playing in his dark hair, could only be a vision.

Severus, astonished and disbelieving, moved forwards, until he was mere feet from the motionless form, and sank to his knees.

Harry looked somehow older in the dim light, a flush darkening his cheeks, and Severus knew he was staring, but couldn't look away. The boy was lying over the top of the rock, spread-eagled, the unbuttoned cuffs on his shirt sleeves stirring with the breeze. Severus resisted the urge to reach out and button them.

In a soft white shirt and a pair of dark trousers, Harry was breathtaking. In the pose he was lying in, he brought to mind a painting Severus had once seen, a damsel chained to a rock as a sacrifice for some vengeful god. The stunning beauty of the scene was the same, lit by moonlight, dark trees bending and swaying around the figure, dark water lapping at the edge of the rock.

Soft, full lips had fallen open gently, and Harry's lashes rested against his cheek, white in the darkness.

Severus knew he couldn't afford to stand here much longer, in this silence in this place. It was too much like a dream, a fantasy, and if he didn't speak soon, he never would. But he was loath to break the vision before him.

And in the end he didn't have to.

Harry's eyes fluttered open, and Severus caught his breath at the startling color, before forcing himself to be quiet.

The boy looked confused for a second, looking around blankly, obviously at a loss to tell how he'd gotten here. But when his eyes lit upon Severus, who was trying very hard to remember to breathe. And the green eyes cleared instantly.

"Severus. You came."

The wind picked up, throwing Severus's hair into his eyes, and making Harry shiver, wrapping his arms around himself.

"You were expecting me?"

Feeling very foolish, Severus got to his feet, took a step forwards, and wrapped his own cloak over the boy's shoulders, not allowing his hands to linger at the bared white throat or the trembling shoulders.

"I knew you'd come."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then spoke together.

"Harry—"  
"Severus—"

Severus plowed on, having to yell now, over the sound of the wind. He felt a drop of rain, fat and solid connect with his forehead.

"You left before I woke up."

"You told me you'd hate me in the morning."

More raindrops were falling now, and the boy's hair was plastered to his head, rain running in rivulets down his face and neck, down the collar of Severus's cloak. Lightening flashed in the distance.

"I couldn't bear to stick around and see you hate me again!"

"You should have stayed!"

Harry took a step closer, and Severus reached out to cup the boy's face in his hands, ignoring the rain streaming down his fingers.

"You don't hate me then."

Harry's voice was very quiet now, and Severus had to strain to hear it, below the creaking and rushing sound the trees made all around them.

"Never, you foolish boy."

And Severus bent his head slightly, feeling Harry's hands slip inside his shirt, and touched his lips to the boy's. Rainwater mingled in the kiss, clear and fresh, and Severus reveled in the taste of Harry's mouth. Thunder rumbled behind them, but neither responded to it. The sounds of the storm were intoxicating, and Severus didn't resist as Harry's hands pulled his shirt over his head, those soft hands tracing lines on his chest, following the path of the rainwater as it poured down over both of them.

His own hands tugged and teased at Harry's clothing, pinching a nipple here, slipping beneath layers of cloth there. Severus's mouth moved to the marble throat, licking the streams of water off it, reveling in the cold wind that gusted over his bare skin.

And suddenly they were sitting down, the rock hard and cold beneath them, Severus pressing the younger man's body against it, running his fingers through the tangled curls, meeting those green eyes and seeing in them the same desperation he felt overwhelming him, the desperation he did not, quite, understand.

I want you, Harry. Not pieces of you; not your body, but every part of you, everything that makes you yourself, forever.

The cloak was discarded quickly, falling to the ground in a sodden mass, and Harry's shirt followed, till the two men were pressed together, sweat forming on their chests only to be washed away instantly by cool rain.

Harry seemed to be in a trance, his fingers dancing over Severus's skin, never pausing for more than an instant, mapping out his body. His tongue followed, and Severus heard, under the howling wind, little mewling sounds issuing from the boy's throat.

He pressed frantic kisses to the forehead beneath the dark hair, ignoring the disfiguring scar, cradling the smaller head in his hands.

The worshiping exploration that both men were conducting lasted for what seemed like hours, the pair of them curled around each other, Harry's back to the boulder, as they disposed of their clothing. And when the last article had fallen from them, Harry looked up into Severus's eyes, his own green orbs clouded with trust and desire.

Severus kissed him gently, savoring the taste, and slicked himself with a muttered incantation, looking deeply into Harry's bottomless eyes as he thrust into him, the wind still tearing at their hair and the surrounding trees.

Severus moved slowly out and then in again, water streaming down his chest and onto Harry's. The boy gasped as Severus hit his prostate, and seized his hand, covering it in kisses, whispering incomprehensible murmurings into his palm.

They rocked together, icy water raising goosebumps along Severus's back, lost in ecstasy, until Harry cried out suddenly, biting into Severus's shoulder to stop his screams as his chest rose and fell heavily, and he came all over the older man's stomach. The sight of Harry, his lips red from being bitten, his hands clenched in the ground beside them, was too much for Severus, and he came too, Harry's passageway contracting around him, as he gazed into green eyes that seemed to go on forever.

He didn't know how long they lay there, the storm raging around them, but all too soon he felt the younger man tremble, and came to his senses.

He was freezing, and so was Harry. They were sopping wet, and their clothes were covered in mud and full of twigs. And it was raining harder than ever.

"Harry?"

The arms around his waist tightened, and Harry met his eyes. "I love you. I don't want anyone else ever again. I'll stay with you as long as you'll have me, and I'm never letting you go."'

Severus found himself rather taken aback by the depth of emotion in that gaze. Something in the back of his throat tightened. He wanted to reassure Harry, offer parallel words of devotion, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't ready for what he saw in the young man's face.

"Harry, I don't need promises from you…not now. I believe I would be content to simply lie here with you forever. But I am growing increasingly cold, and you're not far behind."

Harry sighed beneath him and they rose to their feet and began to dress. Severus winced as the icy garments clung to his skin, making him shiver, and frowned in sympathy as Harry gingerly pulled his own on.

And then, fully dressed, they stared at each other, and simultaneously stepped forwards. Severus reached out and took the boy's trembling hands in his own. "Harry, I don't know what was different this time, but…"

"But something was."

They beamed at each other for a moment, forgetting the sopping clothing and the rumbling thunder. Or rather, Harry beamed. Severus removed the sneer from his face and smiled, his thin lips turning upwards at the edges.

Then, carefully, he raised Harry's hands in his own and kissed the backs, never breaking eye contact.

Wrapped in the silvery folds of Harry's invisibility cloak, they walked into the castle, their arms brushing against each other, sending shivers up Severus's spine.

For the first time since the Dark Lord and the Dark Mark and the Death Eaters, Severus Snape had something to live for.

It was a very disconcerting feeling.

**A/N: This is NOT the end! I know it sounds like it could end here, but there's so much more to write, so it's not going to. Just thought I'd give you a heads up. Since you were all so nice in your reviews, I thought I'd better write a new chapter fast. I LIKE this chapter, but I just wrote it, and maybe in the morning I'll look at it and shudder in self-disgust. I'd better post it soon before I get disillusioned with it. Right now it seems romantic and poetic and all that rubbish. Anyway, thanks for reading…I hope I didn't let them get too out of character, because I don't like fics that do that.**

**Cheerio all.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey everyone…sorry for the delay in updating. I'm having a hard time at home right now (see I can tell all of you, because none of you KNOW me…) and I REALLY don't want to be harassed about a stupid fanfic. So you get your updates when you get them, and I don't know how much energy I'm going to have to spend on this. **

**Special thanks to BlackPriestess for reviewing so nicely…if you haven't been reading her story 'Severus Snape Favorite Enemy' you really should be. **

**Anyway, without further ado…here's the next chapter.**

Harry didn't believe in gravity anymore. In the short walk from the lakeside grove of trees to the dark castle, he firmly believed that he could have lifted off the ground any time he chose. He wouldn't even have needed his Firebolt. He was lighter than air.

In fact, the only thing stopping him from taking flight this very second was Severus's arm encircling his waist, gently pulling them together, and the feel of his hip bumping into the older man's.

It was still raining, and now that he was no longer in the throes of ecstasy, Harry was beginning to feel the cold. Strangely enough, however, he was perfectly happy. He'd rather be out in the pouring rain, lightening shocking the sky all around him, drenched to the point of saturation, with Severus's body near his, warming him, than inside the cozy Griffindor common-room.

But there was something wrong. Severus's arm around his waist didn't exactly shove him away, but neither did it pull him close. And they did not speak as they walked towards the castle, although Harry would have liked to. He felt, with panic creeping slightly into his thoughts, that this was familiar. Last time it had been perfect too. Last time he'd been happy too. And last time it had gone horrible wrong once the euphoria faded.

Once inside the castle the older man shrugged off the cloak and strode forwards, not looking at Harry, and the feeling of something being wrong seemed to intensify. Harry bundled the cloak up and followed, trotting to keep up with Severus's long strides.

"What's wrong?"

"Five points from Griffindor."

Harry stared at the older man. "What?"

"You will address me as 'Sir'."

"I—_what_?"

"You heard me Potter."

Harry wondered if he could be losing his mind. He opened his mouth to give an incredulous reply, and found himself pushed hard against a cold wall, his shoulders grasped in bony hands.

"Be quiet, you fool."

"But what—?"

Severus silenced him with a sharp shake of his head. "Look behind me."

Harry looked. Behind Severus's head was a stone wall, the same as every other wall in the castle. A short, balding man was watching them from his picture frame, shaking his head in disapproval. Harry started to frown, confused, when he met the man's eyes. Oh.

"That portrait hangs in Dumbledore's office, doesn't it?"

"_Professor_ Dumbledore, Potter. Show some respect."

Harry looked up at the man he was hopelessly in love with, and wished that he could read something in those eyes. "Sorry, Sir."

Severus stepped back, a look of disgust on his face, as though he couldn't bear to touch Harry, and nodded curtly. "You will come down to the dungeons this instant and explain your behavior earlier today. I will ensure that Professor Dumbledore is informed of your indiscretion."

If Harry hadn't been reasonably certain that this was an act for Armando Dippit's portrait, he'd have been terrified and furious. As it was, he was only…well…terrified and furious. He laughed mentally at himself, but kept his face straight. Besides, once the fleeting thought was gone from his head, Harry could think of very little to laugh about.

They reached the dungeons fairly quickly, and turned into a hallway Harry vaguely recognized. Then, several feet down the corridor, they turned again, and Harry found himself in the dimly lit chambers he recognized.

The memory of the last time he'd been here made him blush, and, to avoid looking around any more than was necessary, Harry looked at Severus.

Who was most decidedly not looking at him.

The older man was kneeling by the fireplace, muttering something. Harry watched, entranced in spite of himself, as Severus rose up, silhouetted against the leaping flames.

"My tall dark stranger." Harry commented wryly, before he could stop himself. It was the wrong thing to say, evidently, because Severus moved a step closer, his face thrown in to shadow still, to loom over him.

"I am not amused, Potter."

Harry threw up his hands, feeling that he was inches from tears. He didn't understand what was happening. "What are you doing?"

He was answered with another question. "What do you want from me, boy?"

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that.

"I—"

"I do not take kindly to being toyed with."

"I—_what_?"

"This is a game, is it not?"

"_No_."

"Why this pretense of attraction?"

"It's not a bloody _pretense!_ I wouldn't have shagged you twice already if I wasn't _attracted_ to you!"

"Is it some bet with Weasely?"

"_No!_"

"Then what? A ploy to make me lose my job?"

"_No!_"

"_Do not lie to me, Potter!_"

Harry strode forwards, his fists clenched in fury, and shoved the taller man backwards until he connected heavily with a wall. "I am _not_ lying to you!"

Severus, breathing heavily, looked down on him, his face unreadable, and Harry felt his anger seep away. "I'm not lying to you, or toying with you. Damn it, I don't know what else to say."

"If I were not quite certain otherwise, Potter, I would say you were intoxicated."

Harry laughed bitterly. "I don't understand you. One minute you're fine, and the next you're ready to leap at my throat. Why is it so hard to believe that I'm honestly hopeless about you?"

Severus's voice, when he answered, was just as bitter, but full of something else as well—something Harry didn't recognize at first. "Unless you have been jinxed, I find it very difficult indeed, Potter." He brushed by Harry and strode to a chair in front of the fire, sinking into it, putting his face in his hands. Harry looked on with a mixture of concern and awe; he'd never seen Severus look so drained before.

The voice that came from Severus now was very tired, and Harry finally recognized the self-loathing that was wrapped around every syllable. "I am twice your age, with a body that has never been attractive, particularly now that it has begun to decline, and a personality that has never made anyone express any emotion but hatred. I am not a desirable person, Potter."

Harry moved to stand in front of the chair, and then kneeled so his face was level with the older man's.

"I don't care. I don't think I can live without being near you, no matter what that takes. If you don't…don't want me, I can understand. But I don't want a life that doesn't involve you. I don't want you to send me away from you, no matter what you ask of me."

Harry felt, to his mortification, a tear trickling down one cheek. Then he felt a firm hand take hold of his chin and turn it. He met Severus's eyes reluctantly, afraid of what he'd see there. They were unreadable, as always.

"Harry, I cannot feel what you're feeling."

Another tear followed the first, and Harry wished the floor would swallow him up where he knelt. But Severus reached one long finger out to brush the tear away, and something close to tenderness showed in his face for a second.

"I do, however, feel…something. You are much younger than me, and although it is by no means fair to you, I do not believe I have it in me to send you away."

Harry took hold of Severus's hands and repeated the gesture the older man had made to him, earlier, by raising them to his lips and kissing them lightly.

Framed by the firelight, Harry leaned forwards and brushed his lips against Severus's. "Good."

"Perhaps not the word I would have chosen, but it will suffice."

"Then you'll accept that I'm actually attracted to you?"

"It seems I have no alternative."

"And you'll tolerate me being around you?"

Severus frowned slightly. "If you were not my student, I would agree in a second, but Harry…"

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"No. If we are to be involved, it must remain secret until you've graduated."

"But I'm of age!" Harry protested hotly.

"And you are still my student."

Harry rested his forehead on the arm of the chair and felt, feather light, Severus's hand on his hair.

"Can I at least stay here tonight?"

There was a sigh above him, and silence for a minute. Then, finally, "No."

"I didn't think so." Before he could say anything else, Severus had risen to his feet, pulling Harry after him.

"You should go now, actually. I'm not sure how long I would be able to resist the temptation to have you stay the night."

"I know." Harry looked up, miserable, at Severus, worshiping the other man with his eyes, and was rewarded with a hard kiss. "You won't change your mind by tomorrow?"

"No. You have my word."

They stood there, the warmth of the fire seeping into their skin, for several long minutes, before Severus kissed him once more, almost desperately, and pushed him towards the door.

Drenched, thoroughly miserable, and yet happier than he could ever remember being, Harry made his way back along the hallway, wanting only to fall into bed and never get up.

Back in his chambers, Severus sat staring into the fireplace long after Harry crept into bed, his hand pressed lightly to his lips, as if trying to find a trace of something he longed for. He slept, finally, still in his chair, but for the first time since he could remember, he slept without draining a dangerous amount of Firewhiskey.

**A/N: Please give me nice reviews. If this chapter wasn't up to scratch, LIE. I'm within an inch of abandoning this story because of everything that's happening right now, so if it's no good, there's no point continuing it. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: For now you win. I'm fighting my deep dark depression by writing smutty, slashy fanfiction. I'd really like to thank BlackPriestess for giving me a reason to keep writing; she told me that I wouldn't be able to feel good about giving this up, and she was right. Thanks as well to everyone who told me to do what's best for me, even if that means giving up on writing this. **

**Unfortunately, updates are going to be pretty sporadic for a while, while I get things back together. I'd thank you for your patience, but you really don't have a choice, do you? If you weren't patient, I'd stop writing. I'll thank you for your reviews and your support instead, and let's leave it at that. **

**Hope you enjoy. Next chapter's half written, so it shouldn't be too long.**

Harry awoke the next morning with an ache in his back and a cold in his chest. He felt very far removed indeed from the ecstasy of the night before, looking in the mirror to see his red-rimmed eyes, blowing his streaming nose into a tissue. Ron, standing somewhere behind him, made a noise that was somewhere between sympathy and disgust, and opted to stay away.

Despite the relative misery he was in, there remained, somewhere inside him, a seed of warmth at the thought of Severus's arms encircling him, and even his aching head and back couldn't seem to take away from that feeling.

A warm shower, Harry decided, would be just the thing. Biting back a groan, he staggered, bleary eyed, to the shower room, thinking longingly of hot baths.

And, preoccupied, it took him several minutes under the shower to realize that he was being watched.

It was very strange. One second he was daydreaming quietly of the night before, of the feeling of being held, being cared for, and the next he was swiveling around, ready to rip Dean's head off. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew it was Dean, or how he even knew someone was standing there – he just did, all of the sudden.

"What the hell are you doing here?" It came out as a snarl, and he felt a rush of satisfaction at seeing the other boy flush.

"Harry, you've got to—"

"Oh stuff it." Just as suddenly as it had come, Harry's anger evaporated, and he wished that Dean would just go away and leave him to think about Severus.

Dean, however, seemed to have no intention of leaving. He pointed his wand briefly at the door, locking it, before turning to speak.

"Listen to me, Harry."

Harry turned to face him again, reluctantly. "What do you want?"

Dean looked taken aback, as if he'd been bracing himself to be hit. "I just want to talk to you."

"About what?"

Dean blushed. "Ginny."

And then it was clear to Harry. Dean hadn't come to explain himself, or justify what he'd done. He'd come to make sure Harry wasn't going to squeal to Ginny."

He rolled his eyes. "If you're wondering, I haven't mentioned anything to her. Don't think I'm planning on keeping quiet though; I think she has a right to know that her boyfriend was cheating on her."

"Harry, come on." Dean was smiling, and it wasn't the charming smile Harry was used to. "You know as well as I do that you're not going to tell her."

"If you're so sure about that," Harry said mildly, "why are you here?"

"Just to make sure you see it my way."

"Oh?"

"If you tell her that I was cheating on her, she's going to want to know two things. Who I was with, and how you know. Are you really ready to come out to the whole school?"

"Maybe I am."

"Oh whatever." Dean's face changed again. There was the smile Harry was so used to seeing, but with a trace of sadness behind it. "Look, Harry, none of this was to hurt you. I didn't want it to end like this." Then, very faintly, so that Harry was hardly sure he'd heard it, Dean added, "I just didn't know what to do."

"Cheating on someone is usually a pretty good way of hurting them, Dean. And not just _me_. You know damn well that you weren't being fair to Ginny either."

"But I care about you _both_!"

"You can't have both of us!"

"I know." It was almost a whisper. "I know I've been the stupidest git imaginable, but I didn't want to hurt you. And, come to a choice between you and Ginny, I'd chose you. Can I still?"

"No." Harry met his eyes, angry. "You missed your chance."

Dean grinned. "Come on, Harry."

"Stuff it up your arse, Dean."

Dean jutted out his chin. "Gladly, if it'd mean you'd take me back."

"I'm not taking you back."  
"So you say now, but what about when you're not angry any more? You'll miss me, and I know that's the truth."

"Maybe I will. That doesn't mean—"

Dean kissed him.

It was so sudden that Harry didn't react right away. Their tongues slid together so smoothly, so perfectly, that it seemed only natural to let it go on a minute longer. And then, when the minute ended, and Dean was kneeling in front of him, undoing his trousers, it seemed just as natural.

It was a panting, aroused Harry who finally pushed the other boy away, his face red.   
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dean tried to pull Harry's hips forwards again, but Harry was stepping back already, doing up his trousers, furious with himself.

"Making it up to you."

"You _can't_!"

"I can try."

Harry laughed loudly, bitterly. "Dean, it's over. So maybe I'll miss you, but you're not the person I thought you were. Go _away_, and leave me alone."

Dean, rising off his knees, looked at Harry measuringly, and laughed softly. "I understand now. It's Snape, isn't it? You've been having an awful lot of detentions with him lately."  
Harry opened his mouth, at a total loss as to what to say, but Dean cut him off. "Don't bother. I won't snitch on you. He was what you always wanted anyway, wasn't he? Well I'm happy for you, I guess." He grinned. "Not so pleased for myself, though."

He leaned forwards, before Harry could stop him, and placed a light, chaste kiss on the other boy's lips. "I'll miss you."

And he turned, without a backward glance, and walked away, leaving Harry feeling slightly guilty and very, very relieved.

The relieved feeling lasted all day, and the guilt only seemed to get worse. He'd been neglecting Ron and Hermione. They'd noticed that something was wrong, but not what. Just because he was hopelessly in love with his teacher did _not_ mean he could abandon his friends. They'd stood with him through worse than this.

The worst part of the day was looking at the high table, seeing Severus's long black hair gathered at the nape of his neck, and knowing that he couldn't simply walk up there and run his fingers through it.

_There are rules!_

He sternly reminded himself, and melted as Severus's calm eyes met his own. He looked away quickly, nudging Ron to get his attention away from the Daily Prophet.

"What's up?" Ron put the paper down, meeting his eyes matter of factly. Hermione, putting down her pumpkin juice, did the same. Harry frowned and cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you two know something I don't?"

They exchanged meaningful glances, which did nothing to relieve Harry's mind.

Hermione pursed her lips and spoke slowly. "Harry, there's something you're not telling us. We didn't want to pry, but you haven't been exactly…" she paused, searching for the right word, "subtle."

Harry looked to Ron for confirmation, and was slightly shocked when the redhead nodded.

"But you two—how—?"

Hermione smiled lightly. "Harry, we know you."

"So stop being a git and tell us!" Ron interjected. He ran a hand through his hair and grinned nervously at Harry.

Harry found himself a bit at a loss.

"I…erm."

They both looked disappointed.

"Of course, maybe we were wrong." Hermione gave Ron a pointed look. "I guess it's easy to imagine this sort of thing."

Ron looked confused for a second, opening his mouth as if to question her sanity, but fell silent rather quickly. "Ya, right. Course we might have it wrong." He said instead.

Harry had the distinct feeling that Hermione had just trod on Ron's foot.

They were giving him an out. They were telling him quite simply that if he wasn't ready to talk about it, they weren't going to force him. They weren't going to make things uncomfortable by prying.

"Ya." He looked down at his plate. "Ya, I think you must have."

Hermione wasn't finished yet though. She reached past Ron a little to grab the platter of toast and loaded a few pieces onto her plate, looking at Harry quite frankly.

"But Harry knows, obviously, that if something _was_ wrong, he could always talk to us about it."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "Because we'd _always_ try and help, no matter what it was." She buttered her toast, speaking quite coolly. "_And_, if it was something you couldn't talk to us about, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would be a good confidante." She took a bite of the toast, chewed carefully, and swallowed before continuing. "But this is all hypothetical, isn't it, since Harry's said he's got nothing he needs to talk about."

Harry, not trusting himself to speak, nodded, and continued eating. Although Hermione seemed quite composed, he and Ron were bright red, and it was a while before any conversation took place.

Regardless of his discomfort and growing guilt, however, Harry couldn't ever remember feeling fonder of his friends.

**A/N: Not as long as I'd like, but there you have it. Sorry there's virtually no Severus/Harry in this chapter; there were some things I needed to get done that didn't involve the two of them together. I know you all hate the Dean/Harry scenes, and so do I, so don't worry; I'm not going to be writing many more of them if I can help it. Dean the way I've written him is a complete sleazebag, and in my opinion, the less we see of him the better. New update coming soon, I hope. I just need to get my head unmixed about other stuff before I really have time for fanfiction. Thanks for being as understanding as you have been. **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: You might notice in this chapter that Dumbledore is still alive; this is because I really needed him in this fic. I enjoyed HBP, but I don't think I could write with the ending JKR gave us. **

**I'm going on a trip at the end of the week, and I'll be back soon, but a couple of my cousins are coming to visit me, and they'll be here all summer. And that means that I won't have much (if any) time for fanfiction. I'm REALLY sorry, but that's just how it is. I can promise you that I am NOT going to give up on this story, but that's the best I can do. I hope I get some time to write while they're here, but if not, by the end of August, I should be back to work. **

**Sorry…I hope you can be patient…**

Harry knew it was going to be a bad day. And, after his two morning classes resulted in a mountain of homework, twenty-five points lost from Griffindor, and a detention with Professor McGonagall, he didn't think it would be looking up any time soon. Worse yet, it was only Tuesday, and if he was behind on homework this early in the week, he'd be dead by the weekend.

But that wasn't the real reason for his foul mood. The real reason was that he missed Severus. He didn't have potions until tomorrow, and even then it was doubled with the Slytherins.

He looked gloomily at the paper in front of him. At the top of the page, one sloppily scrawled sentence read, 'The Proper Method Of Transfiguring Goats and Larger Animals."

Harry put down his quill. He had no idea how to transfigure a goat. If the situation ever arose, he'd just ask Hermione, who'd probably already finished her essay.

He would visit Severus tonight, under invisibility cloak.

But it was going to be a very bad day.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

…and Severus knew it. Nothing good would come of the note sitting on his desk.

Severus paced his room, back and forth, towards the fire, then with his back to it, casting a long shadow on the cold floor.

He crossed the room to pick up the scrap of parchment, but did not look at it. He had read it so many times now that he knew what it said without looking.

_Severus,_

_Come for tea? We have things to discuss. Come about the usual time, I think. _

_Warmly,_

_Albus _

Short and to the point. But what point? Severus did not believe Albus when the old man said that there were things in the school he did not know about. The headmaster knew _everything_. But Severus could not see how even _Albus_ could be approving about this.

_Albus, I think I'm in love with the boy_, he could hear himself saying.

In his head, the old man leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, raised an eyebrow. _Have you told him that?_

_No, but we've screwed a couple of times._

_Have you talked?_

Not much. Just in between the sex.

He clamped down on that train of thought quickly. Images of Harry, back arched almost in pain, lips opened in a soundless cry…

Severus groaned and sank into an armchair, putting his head into his hands. Then, abruptly, he rose. He was not going to just wait here until teatime. If Albus wanted to discuss something, they'd get it over with. He sprinkled a handful of floo powder over the fireplace, composed himself, and stepped into the emerald flames.

Harry and Ron had a spare period after Herbology, and Harry, claiming a headache, chose to spend it in the common room, staring at the fire. For a second he thought he saw a flash of green in the flames, but no one appeared to step from the fireplace, so he knew it must have been his imagination. He wondered if Severus's face was tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, because every time he closed his eyes he saw the older man.

He wanted to curl up on Severus's lap and talk about – oh about everything! There was so much he didn't know about Severus, so much he'd like to find out. He wanted to know what those dark eyes were hiding, why Severus looked away when Harry used the word 'love'.

"Harry?"

Startled, he looked up. Ginny stood there, her hair falling into her face, her eyes rimmed with red. "You haven't seen Dean have you?" the calm in her voice was forced.

"Not lately, no. What's up?"

He pushed an armchair towards her, lifting an eyebrow in invitation. She dithered for a minute, and then sat down. "It's Dean."

"I figured."

Ginny shot him a quick, puzzled look, but continued. "He's been avoiding me, and we had a fight yesterday. I just…well I don't understand him, for one thing. He says he's never liked a girl this much, but I don't think he really does like me…not really. He kisses me, but I don't think he really wants to. He doesn't know _what_ he wants!" She rolled her eyes. "He sometimes says I go too slowly, which is none of his bloody business, and other times he doesn't want to be near me at all."

"Are…are you sure _you_ like _him_?" Harry managed.

Ginny managed a weak, watery laugh. "Yes, I am sure." She wiped her eyes with a trembling hand. "Despite everything I really do care about him. Harry, I don't know what to do."

Harry shifted in his seat. She was his friend…didn't he owe it to her to tell her?

But he couldn't. Not without telling her that he, Harry, was gay.

Surprisingly, the idea didn't horrify him. Telling Ginny would be, in many ways, much easier than telling Ron and Hermione. And she wouldn't pass it on, not if he asked her not to.

He'd decided, had opened his mouth to tell her, when Dean walked in, followed by Ron. Dean looked mildly horrified to see Harry and Ginny together, with her in tears, but he pulled himself together quickly when she didn't immediately start yelling at him.

He crossed the room to take her hand.

"Alright, Gin?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Harry and I were just having a talk. No need to be jealous, though; there's nothing between Harry and me."

"I know there's not." He kissed her cheek lightly. "I've got to get some homework done. Do you wanna come to the library with me?"

Harry shut his mouth with a snap. He couldn't say anything, not with Ron here.

They left, nodding to Harry and Ron on their way out. Harry couldn't bring himself to meet Ginny's eyes.

Ron sank into Ginny's vacated chair with a sigh. "What was up with Gin? She looked in a right state."

"Hmmm."

"I dunno what she talks to you for." Ron grimaced. "Dunno what you listen for either, though. She's alright when she's happy, but when she starts leaking tears all about, I don't know what to do."

They sat in companionable silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire in front of them, and it occurred to Harry that he'd miss this, if Ron ended their friendship. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell his friend about Severus, but no sound came out. He couldn't do it.

Harry stared morosely at the flames. He couldn't bear to lose Ron's friendship.

Albus looked up from his desk, beard flipped over one shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. "Severus. You're early, of course. Come and have a seat." The tone was light, courteous, as always, and didn't tell Severus anything.

Severus, although he knew better, extended his mind a little. If only he could tell what Albus was thinking, it might give him an edge. But his legilimensy was blocked by what seemed to be a wall of impossible strength, like always. Twinkling eyes looked up from a teakettle, and Severus had the disconcerting feeling that Albus had felt his attempt.

He braced himself, but all the old man said was a mild "Do have a seat, Severus."

Over tea, Severus gripped his cup in an iron fist, waiting for the blow to fall.

"How have you been managing?" Severus tried to glare at his mentor, but couldn't manage. The eyes were his undoing. Bright and honest, they seemed to actually care about how Severus was doing. So instead of snapping at Albus, he found himself replying, "Not so bad. And you, Albus?"

There was concern in those eyes. "And your work for the Order?"

Severus quashed a frown. He ought to have known that Albus wasn't genuinely concerned with _him_. His only value to _anyone_ was his work against the Dark Lord. And he wouldn't be valuable much longer because he was swiftly approaching breaking point.

Instead of saying any of this, he shrugged with false levity. "The Dark Lord trusts me, as he always has. I have nothing to report, Sir."

All this he said with polite formality, to the man who had been his sole reason for living for the past twenty years.

Instead of vanishing the concern, he'd seemed to fortify it. Severus could read the worry behind the clear eyes with ease. A torch on the wall flickered, and he felt the portraits' eyes on him.

And he felt a touch on his mind.

Automatically he did what he always did when the Dark Lord invaded his mind, and let the older man in, shoving unimportant details and long-forgotten memories to the front, burying his secrets away behind the wall of trivia.

For a second he considered letting Albus glimpse a scene of the previous night, let one of the boy wonder's gasps trickle through his defenses, but something about the idea repulsed him. It would be an easy way to tell Albus about his new problem, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He owed his life to this man, but he did not _belong _to this man.

No. He would not do it. Here was something he could hide from Albus, something he _would_ hide from Albus, something that was none of the old man's business.

Their eyes met across the table, one black pair outwardly impassive, churning with fury beneath the surface, and one pale pair, shining with compassion.

There was silence following the mental struggle, and Albus broke it by sipping his tea, slurping slightly.

"Severus, what is he planning?"

"Nothing new. I am, at the moment, one of his favorites. I believe I would know if there was something afoot."

"I confess to being relieved." Firelight turned Albus's beard a deep golden color, and Severus felt suddenly tired, like he could sink his face into that shoulder and sleep for an eternity.

"Albus, when does it end?" He blurted it out, mesmerized by the firelight, and immediately regretted it, seeing the lines on the older man's face deepen. Albus had enough things to worry about without knowing how close to insanity his spy was. Besides, Severus could manage. He always did.

"Soon, my friend, soon." Albus looked old, and Severus hated him for it, and loved him for it at the same time, because it made him human. "Or there will be little left of us all."

The rest of the tea was a somber time, and Severus had the impression that they were holding something together that was dissolving at the threads, desperately snatching at sanity while it slipped through their fingers. When he rose to leave Albus placed a hand on his shoulder, the first physical contact they'd had in a long time, and sighed heavily.

"Severus, I would like to think that I am your friend."

"You…you are, Albus, as much as anyone." Severus stuttered.

"Yes." There was a sad smile at the corner of Albus's mouth. "And yet in one night we have each tried to invade the other's mind, and each blocked the other out." Severus stiffened, but Albus went on before he could continue. "But you know, Severus, don't you, that I will always be willing to listen, should you wish to talk."

"I know." His answer was bland, and he could not make it anything but.

"I need you sane, Severus. We all do."

They all needed him. He could not give in to the urge to simply fall asleep and never rise again. He had to live for the rest of the wizarding world.

"I know. I won't let you down, Albus."

A heavy sigh, and the old man's words were barely audible "No. That is true, Severus, despite all I have done to you, you will never disappoint us."

Severus crossed the room to leave, his brow creased in thought, and paused at the sound of Albus's voice, again.

He looked so weary, so utterly spent, that Severus felt a rush of pity.

"One more thing, my boy."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"I condemn nothing you do, please understand that. I have every faith in your judgment, but I would remind you of something. Relationships between teachers and students are prohibited in this school. I would tread with caution were I you."

Severus could not, for the life of him, manage a coherent reply, and when he reached the door to his chambers he was more exhausted than before. He massaged his temple, leaning against the wall.

Harry was a boy, a child really. How could what he was doing not be wrong? And what kind of relationship _did_ they have? They'd fucked twice already. If someone had described this to Severus, he'd have condemned himself for rape. This, whichever way he looked at it, was _wrong._

But he loved the boy.

He scoffed at himself. The statement was a double blow. If he did indeed love Harry, he was a fool as well as a rapist. And he would destroy Harry. He destroyed everything.

So Severus had to end this, before it got out of hand. Before he got in so deep that he couldn't end it.

A small sound jolted him from his thoughts, and he pulled out his wand, squinting into the dark corner by the wall, out of the way of any torch bracket…

Harry lifted his head, a smile brightening his face when he saw the other man.

"Severus?" The boy stretched, and Severus felt his heart shudder. He fought the urge to tell Harry how beautiful, how flawless, how forbidden he was. "I figured it'd be a while before I got to see you again, and I came down to visit you. But I fell asleep. This probably isn't a good time?" There was a question in those green eyes.

Severus swallowed around the lump in his throat. Here, in front of him, was everything he wanted in the world.

And everything he could not have.

Their eyes met.

**A/N: So you've met my Dumbledore for the first time…let me know what you think. You'll notice that he did not once mention Lemon Drops. I didn't include that because I think it's become a ridiculously overused cliché. Lemon Drops are mentioned all of what, three times? In six books? And yet seventy percent of fanfics including Dumbledore have him shoving the things down everyone's throat. **

**Sorry for the cliffie, but I'll try and write more as soon as I can. **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Someone mentioned that Harry is perhaps getting a little too clingy…you might be right. Could other people give me their opinions about that? Thanks.**

Harry, seeing the torchlight glimmer over Severus's face, shivered. The man looked gaunt, somehow stretched too thin. He was reminded of Sirus's face, when he'd first caught sight of his godfather. Then, Azkaban had been to blame. Now, Harry had no idea.

"Are…are you alright, Severus?" The man winced and opened his mouth, avoiding Harry's eyes.

And all at once, Harry did not want to know what Severus was going to say. He rose to his feet, crossed the space between them in two long strides, and took the taller man's hands in his own.

"You look dead on your feet, Severus. Come inside and I'll make you some tea."

Severus seemed to pull himself together. The stretched look vanished, and he drew himself up to his full height. Only his black eyes still reflected weariness, and Harry was frightened to see it, from a man who was always so controlled.

"I'm fine, Potter."

Harry, suddenly certain of the right way to handle this, laughed lightly, shoving aside the pain at being called 'Potter' by the man he'd been so intimate with. "This is getting repetitive, love."

The use of the endearment made Severus's face contort strangely, as if he wanted to be both pleased and furious, and couldn't decide which.

"I suppose you've decided again that you've got to let me go, or push me away."

"I–"

"But you've managed, of course, to forget that I'm not exactly keen on giving you up."

Severus pulled his hands away, massaged his temples, eyes closed. "You don't know what you're saying, boy."

Harry shook his head in disbelief, but kept his tone light. "Sorry, but I think I do. Unless you can honestly tell me that you don't care about me, I'm not letting you push me away."

When the older man opened his mouth to object, Harry cut him off. "How do you think I'd manage if I had to let you go?"

Severus suddenly opened his eyes, looking around the corridor in a panic-stricken way.

"This is not a conversation we should be having in the hallway, Potter."

Harry nodded. "Then let's go inside. But what else is there to say on the subject? You might be willing to give _me_ up, but the feeling is not mutual."

He followed Severus into the dark chambers, shutting the door behind him, steeling himself for further argument, and turning around—

Straight into Severus's arms.

Harry automatically pressed into the embrace, breathing deeply. Every second he spent in this man's arms was precious, and he would not waste it. Not when it could end forever any minute, knowing Severus.

But when Severus spoke, it was quietly, lovingly.

"You foolish boy."

Harry pulled back—not far enough to be out of the circle of Severus's arms—to inspect his face.

"What's wrong?"

Severus, nonplussed, raised an eyebrow. "I haven't a clue what you mean."

Harry took a strand of the silky hair in his fingers and dusted off Severus's nose with it. "Outside, before you caught yourself, you looked like death warmed over. What's bothering you?"

Severus sighed. "I should be used to you by now. Some things, Harry, are none of your business, and you would do well not to stick your nose where it does not belong."

Harry very nearly wilted under the harsh words, but told himself to snap out of it. This was how Severus was—cranky and generally mean, and Harry didn't want him any other way. Besides, Severus had called him 'Harry', and that, despite the abuse, was enough to make him feel warmer.

"Alright, I'll mind my own business." He said softly, "but I worry about you. I think Dumbledore's stretching you too thin." He waved his wand at the torch brackets on the wall, and was pleased to see them spring to life. "Now. Since you don't want to talk about it, why don't you sit down, and I'll make you some tea?"

Severus stared at him, apparently at a loss for words, and sank into a straight-backed armchair. It was several seconds before he managed a reply. "You are a surprise, as always, Harry. You know more about me than you have any right to know, and I am utterly lost to you." There was a long pause in which they stared into each other's eyes in a way that Severus would call 'sickly'. Then Severus broke the eye contact. "I think I would prefer something stronger than tea, if you would not be adverse."

Several minutes later Severus clutched a goblet of Firewhiskey in one hand, the other resting lightly on Harry's head. Harry sat crosslegged at his feet, back resting comfortably against Severus's knees.

Harry could not remember ever being so happy. Severus's legs were cool against his back, and they sat in silence, watching the flames in the fireplace. There was something mesmerizing about them.

"I had a bugger of a day." His voice was loud in the room, almost echoing.

Severus laughed softly behind him. "As did I." The voice faltered. "I am usually a very solitary man. But I was not adverse to finding you here tonight."

Harry grinned, glad that Severus couldn't see his face, couldn't see how gleeful this news made him feel.

"Good. I don't know how much longer I could have stood being in the same building as you, but not being able to see you."

"Indeed."

Harry leaned his head back against Severus's thigh, sighing as he felt a long-fingered had stroking his hair. "That feels really nice."

"With you here, I will never want for a pet dog."

Harry laughed as much at the fact that Severus was happy enough to make a joke as at the dry humor. "I'm much more useful than a dog."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well…" Harry rose to his feet and eased himself onto Severus's lap, straddling the older man's thighs, and wrapping his arms around the thin neck. "Dogs probably aren't very adept at this sort of thing…"

Severus hissed slightly as Harry toyed lightly with his hair.

Harry, feeling delirious with happiness, unbuttoned the neck of the other man's robes and leaned forwards enough to suck on the white collarbone. There was a sound above him, something between a moan and a gasp, and he took that as permission to keep going.

He trailed his fingertips lower, letting the robes carry his movements, and kissed a trail up the arching neck.

Fingers grasped at his hips, and something wet and warm spilled onto his side.

For a split second, Harry thought that Severus had come, somehow, but a glance down told him the truth. Grinning, he plucked the goblet from Severus's limp fingers and placed it on the floor a foot away.

He clucked his tongue. "Now I'm all wet."

With slow, sensual movements, he pulled his robes over his head, and, with one eyebrow raised, ran his hands back down, over his own bare chest, parting his lips and moaning shamelessly.

Severus growled, leaned forwards, and seized Harry's wrists in an iron grip, pulling Harry into his arms. "You need a good fucking." Then, without warning, he lowered his head and attacked Harry's left nipple with his tongue. Harry leaned back his head, moaning again, his erection throbbing into Severus's thigh.

"Yes!"

Severus's fingers pinched his other nipple, and Harry felt each squeeze, each lick, go straight to his groin.

"You are the bane of my existence, boy." Severus panted. "This is wrong, what I do with you, and yet I cannot _stop_." His mouth moved to the hollow of Harry's throat, and his hands cupped the boy's face, tangling in his hair.

Harry fought to keep his head clear, not an easy feat, considering. He managed to stop moaning for a second, grabbed Severus's sleek hair and pulled the man's head level with his own.

Then, sweetly, a contradiction to the urgency of a second ago, he kissed Severus's thin lips, using the back of his hand to stroke the man's smooth cheek.

Harry closed his eyes, tasting Severus, gently dominating the kiss so that the potions master tilted his head back, going limp in his grasp.

When Harry pulled away to speak, it was in a slightly breathless, slightly hushed voice. "Was that wrong?"

Severus did not reply. He seemed lost in his own world, gazing at Harry in a way that baffled the boy. He had never been looked at, never been worshiped, like this, with someone's eyes.

Harry kissed him again, this time passionately, his body flush against the taller man's, his hands fists in the black hair.

Severus moved his hands to Harry's backside, squeezed it gently when Harry released him, making the boy moan.

Harry's next words were punctuated by moans, panted out as Severus bucked against him. "Is this wrong? How can something that seems so perfect be wrong? Who is this hurting?"

Evidently this was the wrong thing to say, because instead of responding favorably, Severus rose to his feet quickly, pushing Harry off.

They stared at each other, Harry speechless, Severus trying to get himself under control. When he finally spoke it was in a rasping, unhappy voice that made Harry's insides ache.

"It is hurting you. This cannot be healthy. You should be with someone your own age! You should not be spending your time sitting on an old man's lap, running your fingers through his greasy hair!" He made a visible effort to calm himself, and went on in quieter tones.

"You should not be running your hands down the body of a known Death Eater. You should not be whispering endearments into the ears of a man who has killed more people than you could comprehend." His voice lowered yet again, and Harry hardly breathed as Severus went on.

"Do you imagine that you are living dangerously? That is not your privilege."

Harry stepped forwards, put his hand on Severus's arm, tried to say something, but was cut off.

"Enough with your assurances. I will not contaminate you. This thing that has sprung up between us is not possible."

Harry found himself growing angry. "If you don't shut up, I'll use the Body Bind on you again!" He found himself snapping.

Dark eyes flashed, and he was suddenly looking down the shaft of a wand, pointed at his face.

"Don't try it, Harry."

They were still for a second, and then Harry reached out and pushed Severus's arm down, glaring at the wand contemptuously.

"I don't want to live without you, Severus." The older man opened his mouth, closed it again, gulped, and opened it once more. Harry spoke quickly, not giving him an opening. "And I can tell you truthfully that you haven't hurt me. Not once. And you haven't bloody contaminated me either."

He took Severus's hand in his own, pressed it to his chest, over his heartbeat. "You aren't some foul Death Eater. You're Severus, and I know you've done horrible things, and I love you. And I know that you won't hurt me, even if you don't."

"Harry…" It was hardly a whisper. "This isn't possible."

"It is, though."

Severus looked at him, not angry any more. "You are perfect, Harry."

Harry snorted. "Bullshit. I have pimples, and I wake up with bad breath, and I scream at Ron and Hermione. And I jinks my professors and jump on their laps."

"I can't."

"Yes you bloody well can."

Harry stepped forwards, wrenched the wand out of Severus's hand, flung it away, and kissed him.

Severus kissed him back.

Harry, his heart pounding, goosebumps raised on his bare chest, pulled the taller man towards a couch, sinking down on it, undoing buttons as he went.

But again he met with resistance.

Almost desperately he met Severus's eyes. He couldn't bear this.

But the black eyes were kind, and thin lips met his own in a fiery kiss. When they broke apart, Severus bit his earlobe and whispered, "not here."

Harry found himself pulled to his feet again and kissed thoroughly while a pair of warm hands worked their way into his trousers.

He was drawn backwards, into a darker chamber that he recognized as Severus's bedroom. They paused in the doorway, and Harry managed a breathless grin. "This isn't fair; you've still got your robes on."

Severus lifted an eyebrow, and Harry pushed the heavy robes over his shoulders, revealing a stiff white shirt and black pants.

"How much clothing do you _need_?" he asked with exasperation, earning a wry chuckle.

"It is cold in the dungeons. Perhaps that would explain why you are coming out in goosebumps?"

Before Harry could respond, Severus had taken his arms, steered him carefully over to the bed, and pushed him down on it. And then, ignoring Harry's squeal of surprise, Severus knelt by his side, pulled Harry's trousers off entirely, and began to kiss his way up the boy's thigh.

Harry nearly passed out. His hands clenched in the sheets and he moaned uncontrollably.

"Please!"

Severus's voice was a harsh whisper that sent tremors up and down Harry's body. "What is it you want, Harry?"

He nipped the inside of Harry's thigh, and Harry jerked in response.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

"Yes!" Harry managed moan.

"How eager the young are…the longer I take, the more prolonged the pleasure…"

"Please, Sev!" it was nearly a scream.

This seemed familiar to Harry, seemed like something he'd nearly experienced once, but he drove all thoughts from his head. His back was arching and he was making a high-pitched keening noise that he couldn't have described, ever.

And then Severus swallowed him whole.

Or that was what it felt like.

Harry's length was encased by wet heat, and he fisted his hands in Severus's hair, thrusting into his mouth, feeling the black-haired man swirl his tongue, move up and down, before settling in to suck hard.

This time he didn't hold in his screams. He could feel his legs pressing hard into the bed beneath him, could barely breathe for screaming, drove his hips up and into Severus's face.

Harry looked down, feeling himself pulse and jerk, at Severus. He had never seen a more erotic sight. Severus's hands were wrapped around his base, and thin lips moved with great concentration. Several whisps of hair had fallen about Harry's hips, and their color matched his own hair.

With one last scream, he thrust up desperately, shooting his seed into Severus's mouth as his orgasm washed over him.

When it had finished, all he could do was lie there, limp, exhausted, watching Severus stroke himself to completion.

Then came an undeterminable period of time, in which they lay side by side, breathing deeply, in unison.

Severus spoke first.

"You have classes tomorrow."

Harry grinned. "So do you."

There were several more minutes of silence.

Then, in a voice that was hardly audible, Severus whispered, "I'm glad you came."

"So am I." Harry breathed. "I don't want to be clingy, and I think I _could_ last a while without seeing you," he gulped, "but I think I'd rather not."

"I feel the same way."

And that, Harry thought with a feeling of contentment, was quite a concession coming from Severus.

**A/N: thanks to everyone who gave me nice reviews. I'm too tired at the moment to write a long author's note, like I usually do, so you can just imagine one. **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hello, my dears…it's recently occurred to me that I haven't written a disclaimer for a very long time. I think since the first chapter, but I couldn't be bothered checking. Anyway, this may come as a surprise to some of you, so brace yourselves: I am not JKR. Shocked? I thought you might be. On with the story.**

**Oh yes, and sorry for the delay and all that. I suppose you'll be getting used to it by now, though. :) **

They were waiting for him in the common room. Hermione had slumped in a chair before the fire, one arm draped over her eyes, while Ron had paced up and down in front of the windows.

They both jumped at the sound of the portrait creaking shut.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was tentative.

"Of course it's him." Ron sounded brisk, almost unlike himself. "Who else has an invisibility cloak?"

Harry, under the cloak, gulped as Ron's eyes swept the room.

"Although we never figured he'd use it against his friends, right Hermione?"

Hemione ignored him. "Harry, please. This is ridiculous. We want you to talk to us."

"Come on, Mate." Ron sat down in a chair, heavily. "Time's up."

What else could he do? Slowly, uncertainly, Harry let the cloak pool at his feet.

Hermione gave a little gasp that was half-scream, and made as if to go to him, then thought better of it.

Harry, not having looked in a mirror, wondered what they were seeing. Mussed hair and disheveled robes would be the least of it. There was silence for a few seconds, in which Ron and Hermione took in his appearance. Then Ron said, a strangled sort of horror in his voice, "What _happened_?"

"It's not what it looks like!" Harry didn't _know_ what it looked like. Like he'd been attacked, probably.

Hemione's voice was shrill. "Harry, what's going on?" She took several steps forward, then stifled another gasp. "Why do you smell like Firewhiskey?"

Ron looked at her incredulously. "How do _you_ know what Firewhiskey smells like?"

"For heaven's sakes, Ron, I have been to pubs." Hermione snapped, sounding more like herself. Then her voice lowered again. "Harry, you've got to talk to us. If you've gotten yourself involved in something dangerous, maybe we can help."

"It's nothing like that." He hastened to assure them. But was that the strict truth? He wondered if Ron and Hermione would consider a relationship with Severus to be 'dangerous'.

"Then what is it?"

They were looking at him in expectation, as if they were absolutely certain that he about to tell them everything, and he caved, sinking into a chair. "This is private, mind?" He looked at Ron anxiously. "And you're not going to like it, but there's nothing you can do."

Hermione sat down too, and Ron followed her example. They were now sitting in a semicircle around the fireplace. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of soot, old furniture, and yes, Firewhiskey from his robes. How had he missed it before?

Then he opened his eyes and looked at his two friends. And suddenly, acutely, he felt how very much they meant to him. He couldn't say why this occurred to him now, except that he didn't know if they would still be his friends in the next few minutes.

"You've got to promise to let me finish, alright? And let me speak my bit before charging off to kill anyone."

Ron agreed without hesitating, and, though she looked more nervous than before, so did Hermione.

And the time had come to tell them. Harry opened his mouth, and was not surprised to find that no words came out.

He was more frightened of his friends than he was of Lord Voldemort.

Where was his Griffindor courage? Perhaps he'd left it with Severus. Perhaps he'd better run back and get it, before having this conversation that he so wanted to avoid.

No.

"Right. I'm…I like blokes. I'm gay."

There was an open-mouthed, shocked silence. Even Hermione, who Harry had thought might have guessed, looked thoroughly taken aback. She recovered fastest, though.

"Well…oh, Harry…that's…that's perfectly alright, of course, but I never…I didn't…I never _guessed_!" She elbowed Ron sharply. "Oh, Ron, shut your mouth. It's perfectly alright. _Isn't it_?"

Ron shut his mouth with a snap and turned to Harry, looking slightly worried. "Ya, I s'pose, mate, but…" he grinned uncertainly. "You don't…you don't _fancy_ me or anything, do you?"

"No." Harry's mouth was so dry that the single word was all he could manage.

"Then it's fine by me, I guess." Ron stated, and sat back, looking bemused.

Hermione stared at him, open-mouthed, for a second longer, as if seeing him for the first time, and he knew she was adding things up in her head, making connections that she'd missed before.

Then she frowned.

"Harry, this is important. _Really_ important. It's good you told us, really, because now we know, and now hopefully you realize that we're your friends no matter what. But this doesn't explain where you were tonight, and why you smell like alcohol, and why you look like you've been attacked."

Harry made a mental note to check his appearance before leaving Severus's place next time. He must really be a sight.

"Wait a second." Ron was sitting there with the corner of his mouth quirking up in what was almost a smile. He grinned at Harry uncertainly. "Harry was _with_ someone, wasn't he?"

Hermione turned bright red and put her hands to her face, but didn't say anything.

Harry nodded. "But you won't approve." He said, as Ron grinned in a manner reminiscent of his reaction to Cho kissing Harry.

Hermione smiled, also uncertain. "I'm sure we'll be fine with him, Harry. Is he in Griffindor?"

"No." At least that was something Harry could answer without any qualms. "And before you ask anything else, I'd better tell you that there's a bit of an age difference."

Ron frowned. "But we're in our last year. There isn't anyone older." Then a light seemed to dawn on his face. "He's younger, then? That might look bad, mate, especially if you're…" He trailed off, with a significant look at Harry's disheveled clothing.

"He's not younger."

Hermione was silent for a second, and then said, very quietly, "Suppose you simply tell us, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to comply, but—

"Blimey!" Ron interrupted, suddenly looking rather ill. "It's not _Dumbledore_, is it?" Ignoring Hermione's horrified look, he continued to Harry seriously, "Only it can't be a student, and it has to be an older man…"

Before Harry could deny this, Hermione cut in, looking absolutely furious. "Ron, you're being an idiot. Anyone can see that Professor Dumbledore sees Harry as his son, not as anything else!"

"But it's a teacher, right?" Ron ignored Hermione's scandalized look, and continued to address Harry. The guilty look that Harry knew was on his face seemed to convince Ron.

Come on, _who_? Not Flitwick? Not _Hagrid_, obviously." Ron screwed up his face in concentration. "Oh, _yeuch!_ I've had a thought. Not _Filch_?" Harry laughed, and so did Ron. "Cause I don't think I could be ok with that, mate."

Harry shook his head. "Me neither."

They grinned and simultaneously shuddered. Hermione settled for simply looking quite sick.

Then Ron said, still grinning. "Although worse than that would be Snape, of course. Or Binns, though that's not really possible…"

Harry felt the grin fade from his face.

Hermione and Ron stared at him with twin expressions of surprise. Then Hermione's surprise faded, to be replaced with a blank, dreamy look, one that meant she was thinking hard.

Ron simply looked horrified.

There was silence. Finally Ron choked out, "Snape?" And Harry nodded.

There was more silence. Harry had never felt so miserable. He couldn't give up Severus; not for anything. But Ron and Hermione…they were his family. He couldn't bear to lose them either.

"Harry…" Ron's voice was almost a whisper. A disbelieving, disgusted whisper.

Harry didn't meet his eyes, but stared instead at the staircase, which was creaking ominously. "Look, I know you think it's sick, or something, but I really, really care about him. I don't expect you to understand, since you've only ever seen one side of him, but this is how I feel."

Hermione was running her hands through her hair, which was already looking bushier and less orderly than usual. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "Harry, I don't know what to say."

He gulped.   
But instead of immediately speaking again, she rose from her chair to kneel beside him, to place a hand on his arm. "But we're your friends, Harry. I can't say that I approve, since Professor Snape is what, twenty years older than you? But I certainly won't condemn you for being in love. And neither will Ron, if he thinks about it."

Ron shook his head, although his face was pasty white. "I might kill that git, though. He's got to be controlling you somehow." Their eyes met. "If he is…" Ron swallowed hard. "I'll kill the bastard."

"I suppose that's what you were doing tonight?" Hermione asked, after a long pause.

Harry nodded. He no longer felt like talking at all. He felt a profound sense of relief that they had not discarded him as something contaminated. But they hadn't exactly accepted his relationship with Severus either.

"Well." Hermione frowned. "It's hardly reassuring that you've come back after midnight, smelling like alcohol, with your clothes ripped."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say.

"Was he drinking?" Her voice was shrewd, and Harry leapt to his lover's defense.

"That's none of your business, Hermione."

She shook her head. "Don't jump down my throat, Harry…it's only I've noticed him drinking a lot lately. Not in class, obviously, but the signs are there."

"So he drinks sometimes!" Harry tried to control his rising voice. "That doesn't mean anything!"

"I didn't say it did!" Hermione sounded frantic now. "Honestly, Harry, I'm not insulting him! All I mean is that he might have a problem…I'm worried about him, for your sake."

To this, there was nothing Harry could really think of to say.

**A/N: I would like to thank (yet again) BlackPriestess, for getting me back on track. Without her, I'd probably have given up from sheer boredom by now, and you'd all have nothing to read. So be nice, grateful readers, and go check out her story, which is on my favorites list.**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm wondering how many of you are reading this for the storyline, and how many are reading it for the smut. Since the smut is sort of irreversibly tied together with the storyline, it doesn't make that much difference, except for my devious author plots. What if I said that you don't get any more smut until I get enough reviews? Now there's an idea. I could do something like this:**

Harry grinned and toppled backwards onto the bed, pulling Severus after him. It was going to be a long night.

**And then I'd go to a different scene, probably one involving Argus Filch, who NOBODY finds sexy. **

**But enough of my pathetic threats for reviews…on with the story! **

**Whoever it was who commented that they were confident Harry and Sev would run into some problems soon…well here you are. Aren't you smart?**

Severus had never felt like this.

He was floating on a cloud, and he felt reckless.

He poured seven bottles of Firewhiskey down the loo, and whistled as he did so.

He awoke from dreams of green eyes, instead of slit-like red ones.

He caught himself humming while walking down the corridors.

He awarded house points to Griffindor, and reprimanded Draco Malfoy.

Severus wondered if he were going insane.

He felt happy.

Severus woke early that morning, started a roaring fire with a flick of his wand, and smiled encouragingly at the sole portrait on his wall. The short man with dark hair snarled at Severus from his two-dimensional world, and turned his back on the room, sinking into an uncomfortable looking high-backed chair facing away from Severus.

Still feeling absurdly cheerful, he sat down into his own, much more comfortable chair, and found a good book.

Of course, if he'd known what the day held in store, he would have stayed in bed.

While life was not…perfect, it was hardly bad. A lapful of aroused, energetic young man was undoubtedly an attractive way to end the day.

Disregarding (not that he could for an instant) the moral issues that came with the energetic young man.

Disregarding (not that it was at all possible to do so) the intense and inescapable feeling that this bliss could not last.

Disregarding the frightening fact that he was getting in too far, too deep, and yet could not bring himself to exercise any restraint.

But, in an odd way, Harry was worth the mental strife.

Harry was worth an awful lot to Severus Snape.

His morning did not go badly. In fact, it started out with an unexpected pleasure, in the unusual form of a letter from Albus.

_Severus,_

_Forgive an old man's stubbornness, but I have a favor to beg of you. You will, of course, recall the somewhat disastrous attempt to teach Harry Potter Occulemency? It is with some apprehension that I would ask you to reconsider your decision to cease your attempts. Now, more than ever, we need Harry to be guarded against Lord Voldemort. _

_Besides, my friend, am I not right in thinking that the situation has changed somewhat, and you might not be adverse to giving the boy extra instructions?_

_Do get back to me as soon as possible, Severus. I'd like you to start lessons tonight, if agreeable. _

_With respect,_

_Albus_

It took him only a moment to scrawl a reply.

Whistling tunelessly, he thought idly of how much fun it was going to be to tell Harry.

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Harry could not ever remember being this happy.

Ron and Hermione were bickering at the couch near him, about William Shakespeare, who Ron had reportedly called 'that muggle nutter who wrote about people getting stabbed and giving speeches.'

Hermione, of course, was heatedly defending the writer. "Honestly, Ron, you're an idiot."

Yes, Harry thought, leaning back in his chair, watching rain fall outside the window, his eyes half closed, life might be getting more and more dangerous, with the war on, but at the moment, life was also good.

It was a Thursday night when he got the letter from Severus, delivered by one of the school Barn Owls.

_Mr. Potter:_

_See me in the Potions classroom immediately._

_Professor Severus Snape_

Harry grinned, glanced at his watch and grinned again. He still got a fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought of being in the same room as Severus.

Still grinning, he snatched a quill and 'Intermediate Potion Making' from his book bag and made for the door. He ignored Ron's questioning look, his thoughts full of Severus and Severus's body.

He loved Severus for his mind…really he did. The gorgeous body was simply a plus. But, admittedly, he sometimes found it difficult to separate the two; mind and body; in his head. Certain long-fingered hands kept intruding into his thoughts, sending pleasant shudders down his torso.

And when he entered the potions classroom and found Severus waiting for him, a welcome half-smile on his face, Harry felt that he could die of happiness.

"Harry. You were faster than I expected."

The voice was warmer than usual, and Harry closed his eyes for a second, delighting in the fact that he, of all people, was the one Severus chose to speak to this way. Then he clamped firmly down on that particular thought and reminded himself not to be giddy.

"You asked me to come, Professor?" There was a smile in his voice. And on his face. And in his heart. Just having Severus this near made a difference. He moved closer, put his arms around the thin frame and buried his face in robes that smelled faintly of sandalwood. Maybe if he held tightly enough…Harry didn't really know what he feared. There was a faint sense of dread in his chest that was only slightly banished by Severus's body.

Severus seemed to sense that something was off, as his arms came up to hold Harry. A bony, but surprisingly soft hand tilted his face up, and his eyes met mirrored black ones.

"Is something…wrong?" Severus sounded uncertain. "I had good news, but if there is something amiss, it can wait."

Harry laughed, the dread abating somewhat, and untangled himself from Severus arms, parking himself on a desk. "No. It's fine. I've just got the chills tonight. I don't know what it is, really." He smiled up at Severus. The feeling was fading anyway.

Severus smiled back, and Harry searched his face. "So what's your news? If it's important, I'll keep my hands off you for a few minutes."

He was awarded with another wry smile. "This is a first."

"You're not complaining, are you?" Harry rose to his feet and closed the distance between them, standing on tiptoe so that his lips _almost_ touched the thin ones in front of him. "Because if you are – " He moved his head so that it rested on Severus's black-clad shoulder, his breath brushing the ear in front of him, "I could arrange to put more of an…_effort_…into it…"

A shudder went through Severus's body, and the arms came up to hold him again, fingers brushing against Harry's hips before coming to rest on his lower back.

Harry stepped back nimbly, grinning mischievously. "I thought you had something to tell me?"

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and glared in an amused way down at Harry. "You are incorrigible."

Harry couldn't stop smiling. He tried to smother the grin and plaster a serious expression over top it, but couldn't manage. Standing here flirting with Severus was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to him. The sex…well that was one thing. But something as ordinary as flirting, as standing here _talking_, was what really had him grinning madly.

Harry stepped into Severus's arms again, this time tucking his head into Severus's chest and keeping his hands on the long spine. He got the impression that Severus was rather taken aback for a second, and he almost regretted his action, almost pulled back, away from the stiff-backed embrace. But then Severus's body softened against his and tentative hands touched his hair, lightly, as if confirming it as real.

Harry sighed happily and kept absolutely still. He simply burrowed his head deeper into the black robes, listening to Severus's voice deep in his chest as he spoke again.

"Apparently Albus believes that we require more time together. He asked me if I would be adverse to giving Occulemency another attempt."

That got through Harry's haze of contentment. He jerked his head backwards and stared into Severus's face, trying to take it in.

On the one hand, he had never been good at Occulemency, and he wasn't keen on having Severus rub his nose in the fact…it couldn't have a good effect on their relationship. But on the other hand he would be able to spend time with Severus.

Harry smiled, tentatively.

He would be able to spend time with Severus.

Occulemency had never looked so good.

Severus looked almost amused, an expression that Harry could not get used to on his face. "I assume this is agreeable to you?"

He wrapped his arms around the thin, tall frame again and buried his face in Severus's chest. "More than agreeable." His voice came out muffled. "Even Occulemency isn't too high a price to pay to spend more time with you."

"Indeed." The voice rumbled from next to Harry's ear. Severus pulled him closer for an instant, and then moved back gently. "You understand that it will not be easy."

It wasn't a question, but Harry answered it anyway. "No. I don't suppose it will. It's hard enough having you teach me Potions, which I'm half decent at, as opposed to Occulemency, which I'm shit at. But I really will try."

Severus nodded, his eyes boring into Harry. Harry gulped but met his eyes, wondering what the older man saw. Perhaps he was seeing a child, someone who couldn't even close his mind from intruders, hardly someone fit for an adult relationship…

Harry squashed that thought with difficulty. Being paranoid was hardly a way to keep a relationship going.

Instead of asking an insecure question, he met Severus's eyes and smiled, trying to convey how he felt about Severus in a single look.

Those dark eyes seemed to go on forever, and he felt that he was falling head first, irresistibly, into them.

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Severus suppressed a shiver at the emotion he saw expressed in those eyes. He wondered if his own thoughts were shown so nakedly on the surface, so easy to read. The thought appalled him, and he turned away abruptly, walked to the fireplace and leaned against the wall.

"It is a Thursday night, is it not?"

The boy nodded, obviously confused.

"And you do, in fact, have homework, do you not?"

Another reluctant nod.

"Then you had best get to it. Much as I am coming to respect your abilities, you do not need to become further behind in your classes."

Harry gave him a shrewd look, but nodded. "When can I see you next?"

_Never. You care too much, boy, and you are ultimately going to suffer a great deal for your careless heart._

But Severus crushed his better judgment yet again. What did it matter that Harry would suffer some day? What did any of it matter? They were at war, and 'some day' might never come.

"Tomorrow, after your lessons. You are in remedial potions, if anyone asks."

Harry nodded. "Good. I'll see you then, I suppose."

And, with another smile, he turned to go.

The ache that formed in Severus's chest made him wonder just who was ultimately in for the suffering; him or the boy. Without thinking about it, he moved forwards, reached out to embrace Harry from behind –

And stopped.

This was going too far. He was getting in too deep.

Instead of the embrace, he took another long step, to bring himself alongside Harry, and placed a light hand on the boy's lower back, leaning in to whisper into the dark hair.

"Perhaps you needn't leave just yet."

His heart was pounding. Letting Harry convince him into things was one thing; suggesting them himself was another.

But when Harry wound eager arms around his neck, pressed eager kisses to his jawline, Severus did not pull away. It had been too long since life had felt this good. It had been too long since _anything_ had felt this good. Severus was drunk on the smell of this boy's hair, on the touch of calloused fingers down his spine. He was drunk in a way that he had never been from Firewhiskey, and he shoved all thoughts of decency to the back of his mind, for once simply feeling.

He even, for a moment, allowed himself to think the forbidden words, the ones he would never speak aloud, the ones that haunted his every waking moment.

_I love you, Harry. I love your hands and your eyes, and this finger as it traces my lips, and I love that you love me. And I never want to let go of you, of this moment._

Another soft, unhurried brush of lips, and Severus felt the words threatening to burst from him.

_I love you._

The urge to speak them aloud was overwhelming, and he broke the kiss to meet Harry's eyes.

"Harry." It came out softly, as he gazed into infinity in the form of green eyes. "I…"

And, of course, that was as far as he got before his arm began to burn.

It was a moment before he registered what he was feeling and wrenched away from Harry, a horrified look forming on his face.

Before the boy could ask, the sleeve of his robes was rolled up and the mark, shining white, was exposed.

The Dark Mark.

He was being summoned.

**A/N: There. I have no idea when you can expect the next chapter, but honestly, the more reviews I get, and the longer they are, the more likely I am to update quickly. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I forget that you don't know me as well as my friends do. Let me tell you, quite honestly, that I'm not very good at carrying out my threats. And depriving you of your smut? I would never do such a thing. Besides :-) it's fun to write. **

**Disclaimer: Still not JKR. I checked the mirror this morning, but no change. I'll let you know if I make any progress. Until then, I think it'd be safe to assume that I'm just another HP crazed fan who doesn't legally own any of this story. **

Severus Snape could have written a thousand pages on the nuances of lying. No one knew better than him how to twist the truth, dress a lie up prettily and give it the quiet air of something true. Severus lied with his body, his mind, and his heart. He hid the truth away, hid his true self away, and became someone else entirely.

And so he could face the Dark Lord like this, his lips still wet from the touch of Harry's and feel nothing but loyalty for this creature.

And every time he stood face-to-face with the Dark Lord, it became easier; there was a little less of himself to hide away, a little less goodness left alive.

A little less life in him.

Almost, he looked into his master's eyes and thought involuntarily of Harry, pictured him, at their last meeting, stepping forwards for a farewell kiss, lips red and chapped with previous kisses, parted slightly, a pink tongue showing between white teeth.

But he did not. Instead, he pictured with longing another pair of lips on his own, snakelike red eyes meeting his, a taller, paler figure embracing his own. He allowed the slightest trace of these thoughts to seep through the barrier of his mind, and knew that they would be immediately noticed. Lord Voldemort did not know how good an Occulemence his servant was, and it would do no good for him to find out. So Severus let things slip.

And when the Dark Lord's eyes met his own, he lowered his gaze to his master's feet and bowed low, whispering, "My Lord.", and straightened to see something unreadable in that terrible face.

"Severus, you will remain afterwards."

This was why he'd pushed the boy away, time and time again, whispered the small, sane corner of his mind. This was what separated them; that Harry was incapable of the horrible things Severus did with such ease. That Severus could bring out this part of himself, that was entirely missing from Harry.

And Severus nodded.

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Harry lay in bed, feeling just sick. How easy it was to forget about Voldemort, about the danger Severus was in, when things were going well. But this pleasant, perfect world he'd been living in, the reality he'd constructed for himself, fell to pieces the second it was tested.

Because Voldemort _was_ alive, and Harry could not afford to forget it for a second.

Ron and Hermione gave him worried glances, but he shook his head and claimed a headache, not wanting to talk.

Not wanting anything but Severus.

Harry had taken up the burden of killing the Dark Lord, had suffered through the hatred of the entire wizarding world, had watched a classmate die, had been through so much…and yet had never wanted to set his burdens down. He wanted to set them down now. How easy it would be to simply run away, to find a place our of Voldemort's reach, and just live there, with Severus.

And he, Harry, would not suffer for it.

"Harry?" It was Ron's voice, and Harry raised his head, lifted one hand lethargically to move the curtains away from his bed.

"What?"

"Are you alright? Hermione reckons you needed some time to yourself, but I thought I'd come check on you…"

Harry felt a wave of guilt. He, Harry would not suffer from abandoning everyone, but Ron would.

"I'm great, ya."

Ron scoffed. "Right. It's got something to do with that git, hasn't it?" He asked cheerfully, sitting down on his own bed.

Harry's insides contracted painfully at the thought of Severus, at what might be happening to him at this very moment. "Don't call him that."

"But that's what he is. Anyway, you're avoiding the question; what's up? Has he been a bastard to you?"

Harry shook his head, overlooking the insult to Severus, as he had to. Ron was hardly likely to change his opinion overnight.

"What, then?" Ron assumed a sugary voice. "Did ickle Harry not get his cuddle?"

"Shut up, mate." But Harry was smiling.

Ron grinned back. "I'll go report to Hermione, then. She's in a right state, as usual. She worries too much."

But when Ron had gone downstairs, leaving Harry to dark thoughts of torture and the Dark Lord, he found himself thinking that maybe Hermione was right to worry. Maybe he and Ron were the foolish ones, laughing and joking while Severus risked his life.

And with that sobering thought, he found himself drifting into a fitfull, dream-tangled web of sleep.

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Severus looked up at the Dark Lord, his eyes wide. "You asked me to remain, my Lord?" His voice was polite, as always, and if it held a shiver of apprehension, he accompanied it with the mental image of those fingers stroking him. The Dark Lord was as susceptible to flattery as any other mortal; you just had to make sure he didn't realize it was intentional.

"I can smell your thoughts, Severus."

_Yes, you can. _

He looked down at his feet, adoring his master.

_You know everything about me._

"I know everything you know."

_Everything._

Lord Voldemort was standing much closer than was necessary, since they were alone. "I even know," he hissed into Severus's ear, "how much you long for me…"

He allowed his eyes to meet the glowing red pair level with them. Emotions flashed through them, too fast to read with any accuracy. Fear, hope, lust.

"My Lord." He licked his dry lips. "I have never allowed my…feelings to interfere with serving you, I hope."

The tall wizard stepped back, a light smile on his lips. "Not at all, Severus. You have been the perfect servant."

Severus inclined his head.

"But this infatuation…" he twirled his wand between two fingers, idly. "this infatuation must not give you illusions of grandeur."

Severus felt the wand-tip on his cheek, pressing against his skin lightly, the warm wood sending a tingling feeling through his face.

"Because that is all you are, Severus. A servant."

"Yes, my Lord. You are power incarnate, and I worship you."

"Indeed." The wand-tip did not move, but the Dark Lord's voice was cheerful. "But if I thought, Severus, that you saw me as an equal; as a potential partner, I would be most displeased."

"I would die for you, my master."

"Yes." The voice was icy. "You would. Because if it were required, and you did not, your fate would be significantly worse than death. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course."

Severus, his eyes on the ground, only felt the wand tip vanish from his cheek, and a faint brush of air as a warning. Had he been looking up, he would have seen only a flick of that wand, and a flash in the thin eyes.

And his hands were bound, above him.

"Power is everything, Severus." Came the dark whisper. "And you have none."

He didn't answer, only allowed his eyes to burn with what could be interpreted as lust and fear.

The Dark Lord crept closer, and snaked a hand around Severus's back, entwining those sinuous fingers with his hair, hauling his head back, baring his servant's neck.

Severus said nothing.

"And if you have no power, you are nothing."

"Yes, my Lord."

And his master bent down and pressed a kiss to his lips. The lips touching his were so thin that the kiss seemed to consist mostly of teeth and jawbone, and red eyes filling his vision.

Severus kept his mind blank. Nausea he could keep at bay, but he could not manufacture anything else.

And suddenly his hands were free and the Dark Lord had stepped back, a satisfied smirk on his lips, a wave of cool air passing over Severus.

"You may go."

"My lord." He bowed, in control of himself again, a dreamy, longing expression on his face.

"Severus." His master nodded, and Severus disapperated with a pop.

The Hogwarts grounds were dark, in the distance, and Severus staggered as he appeared underneath a short tree. A thousand twinkles of light shone though castle windows, illuminating the Whomping Willow.

Severus feel to his knees, retching. The stench of the Dark Lord was still in his nostrils, the smell of death, of fear.

He wanted to slit his own wrists.

He might have, if he could have remembered how to work the charm.

But he had to report to Albus, and he had _responsibilities._

Severus could not remember what his responsibilities were, at the moment. All he could think of was the appalling stench that seemed to have attached itself to him. If he had been tainted before, what was he now?

He vomited then, on the ground beneath a tree, and spat the taste from his mouth, shaking.

Death must be preferable to that touch, that violation.

But instead of turning his wand against himself, he stood, shuddered once, and began to walk up the hill towards Hogwarts. Severus Snape was powerless to take his own life; because his life was not, in fact, his own.

**A/N: So…it took me a long time to update, but you're coming to expect that, aren't you? Don't you feel sorry for Sev? Of course, things are only going to get worse for him. Let me know what you think! **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: You get a chapter from a new perspective today; or at least, part of a chapter. And it's my birthday today! Since it's hard for you to send me presents, with the whole not-knowing-who-I-am thing, I'll settle for lots and lots of good reviews, ok:)**

Albus Dumbledore was an old man. He had been an old man for a long time, as his long silver beard was a testament to. Few people appreciated exactly how long it took to grow such a magnificent beard, but Albus could forgive them. He had learned much about forgiveness in his long years.

But Albus had not thought of himself as old until these past hours.

He stared into the tall mirror that stood above his sofa. "I don't know you." Indeed, he did not recognize the tired, _old_ face he saw before him. Was there not meant to be a twinkle in those eyes? All he saw was guilt.

And with good reason.

"He doesn't deserve what you force on him."

The face in the mirror didn't deny it.

"But he's got to go back. He knows it as well as I; he's the only one who can do what he does."

And it was true. Looking back over their conversation, Albus knew that Severus had not once allowed himself to voice what was behind his eyes. The young man had never said _don't make me go back, Albus. Don't ask that of me._

Because if he had, Albus would have complied. Albus would have said, _no. Don't go back. Not to him. Rest, my boy._

And they both knew it.

And so Severus had not asked.

"You've no right to ask these things of him. You've no right to destroy him this way."

With a sigh of frustration, he turned away from the mirror. He had no answers for himself.

And when the war was over, he could decide whether or not he had been right to do these things, ask these things of Severus. But now he had no choice, because Voldemort was growing stronger, and they needed what help they could have.

It didn't ease the pain, though, knowing that he had no choice. And, when he finally retired to his bed, it did not help him sleep, or erase the memory of Severus's face from his mind.

He had two thoughts before he drifted into sleep that night. The first was depressing.

_You are a foolish old man, to play with fate this way. _

And the second was hardly better.

_And there is no one else to follow after you. If you die, old man, or set down your burdens, you betray those who rely on you. There is no one else to do what you do._

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Harry knew, inexplicably, two things. He knew that Severus was alive, and at Hogwarts. And he knew that something was not right.

He couldn't have explained how he knew these things, but they'd somehow become unshakable truths in his mind. He'd _felt_ it, when Severus came back, with a crushing happiness, accompanied by a vague sense that he needed to be sick.

Harry had managed to reach the washrooms before losing the contents of his stomach, and the sick feeling was just one more thing he couldn't explain.

And despite his promises, he was contemplating doing the one thing he'd been ordered not to do. He was an inch from snatching up his invisibility cloak and going down to the dungeons, to at least be with Severus, even if he could do nothing.

But that promise.

"_Harry, I want you to promise me something."_

"_Anything. Just come back alive."_

"_Don't wait up for me. No matter how much you feel I am in danger, you are under no circumstances to come to my chambers and wait for me."_

"_Why?"_

"_And I mean to hold you to this."_

"_Why, though?"_

"_Because that is what I require of you."_

"_I promise."_

And now, scarcely two and a half hours later, he had every intention of doing just that. He knew what Hermione would say. _Harry, Professor Snape knows what he's doing. He must have had some reason to ask you that._

But Severus was Hermione's teacher, not her lover.

Ron's reaction would be essentially the same, of course. _Look, mate, he'll be fine. _

But Ron did not like Severus.

Hovering in indecision, Harry toyed with the invisibility cloak on his lap. The room was dark around him.

All the reasons he had not to go find Severus played in his head, but louder, more insistent, was the thought that Severus _needed_ him.

Harry pulled the cloak over his shoulders.

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Severus poured another glass of Firewhiskey, his hands shaking. He was incredibly grateful that he had made the boy promise to stay away tonight. There was nothing stopping him now from drinking himself into a stupor, from becoming so utterly wasted that he would forget his reasons for turning to alcohol. Until he forgot the taste of those lips, the touch of those hands.

_What would you say, Harry, if you could see me now?_

He drained the glass and poured another, maintaining the dignity of at least restraining himself from drinking straight from the bottle.

_And what would you think if you could see inside my head? It's a very good thing you're a bad legilimense, Potter. You'd run screaming if you saw what I've seen. If you saw what I am._

He was thinking very uncharitable thoughts of Harry just now. Severus was sickened with the world and everyone in it.

_I don't deserve you._

The walls were starting to blur, sliding in and out of focus, moving, even though he stayed still.

_And yet I have no intention of being honorable and turning you away...as if you'd allow me to. It's only that I _need_ you so desperately._

_Of course, _came the thought, _spies aren't known for their sense of honor, are they, Severus? _

The dregs of alcohol at the bottom of the bottle burned on their way down, but Severus relished in the feeling. Perhaps they would burn away all trace of his _master_, and leave him as clean and pure as _Potter_.

_Careful, Severus._ He cautioned himself wryly, _that sounded remarkably hateful, for all that you can't live without the boy._

And then, through the alcohol induced fog, came another thought, _what manner of monster must I be for the Dark Lord to desire me? What kind of twisted creature am I, to endure his touch the way I did?_

There was a sound behind him, but he didn't turn. Undoubtedly it was one of the paintings on the wall, scoffing at his drunkenness.

He tapped the bottle once, and then had to try again, before it refilled with the Firewhiskey. Severus stared morosely at it. He tried to think whether this was the first or second time he'd refilled the bottle, and then wondered why it mattered.

_Which argues that it has been many more times than two._

There was another sound behind him, as he sacrificed his dignity and tipped the bottle up in the general direction of his mouth, taking several gulps before setting it back down.

_I don't know how much more pathetic I could get._

_Or how much more I could hate myself._

And then there was another sound. This time it was a word. And those three syllables showed Severus exactly how much more he could hate himself.

"Severus?"

He spun around, and fell from his chair. "You promised." Severus noted with horror that the words were disgustingly slurred. He shut his eyes, hoping that everything would just vanish, and leave him to his misery.

It didn't.

Out of the darkness he heard Harry's voice again.

"I lied."

Cool hands pried the bottle from his hand and stroked his forehead. It felt impossibly good.

"You need to get to bed."

He should be humiliated, should rail at the boy and strike out at him for daring to witness this.

But Severus could do nothing but cling to the sound of that voice. When strong hands grasped under his arms and hoisted him up, he swayed dangerously, and fell backwards into Harry's arms again.

"Damn." The boy staggered. Severus was beginning to feel that embarrassment. Harry had never seen him falling down drunk before. Sloshed, yes. But not like this.

"You didn't have to come." He was grateful to find that both his balance and powers of speech seemed to have come back to him. "In fact, I distinctly remember ordering you not to."

He swung around to face Harry, lurching a bit, and caught the incredulous expression on the young man's face.

"You _ordered _me? Last time I checked, I was your lover, Severus, not your bloody House-Elf."

"Just because I take you into my bed on occasion does not mean you are my lover." It felt good to make someone else hurt. "I hardly think the word applies to children."

"What does that make you, Sev? A pedophile?"

"I – " Severus blinked. The Firewhiskey seemed to leave him a perpetual step behind in the argument, and he had the disconcerting feeling that he was losing.

"Oh this is ridiculous." Harry pulled out his wand, and Severus fumbled for his own, feeling alarmed. He couldn't find it though. "You're too drunk for me to be taking you seriously."

Severus might have managed a retort if Harry hadn't jabbed sharply at him with his wand, muttering the sobering charm, "_inebrius finite._"

Severus blinked, staggered once, and blinked again.

And then stared at Harry.

There was a long silence, in which Harry tried very obviously not to look angry, and failed, and Severus simply looked stunned and horrified.

Then, finally, in a mortified voice Severus vaguely remembered using back in grade school, he whispered, "what are you doing here, Harry?"

**A/N: So…what do you think? I enjoyed writing this, because smut is fun to write, it entails a certain degree of pressure. Whereas this sort of thing is all fun and games for me. Course, maybe I just enjoyed seeing Severus lose the verbal sparing for once. However, it did take me about fifteen minutes to write this, so I'll forgive you if it's not to your taste. There will be some Sev/Harry soon, I think, so be patient. **


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Right. Well I'm stuck with this story, as evidenced by the fact that this update sucks. Erm…I know it's bad policy to ask your reviewers what happens next in your story, but…if any of you have ideas or advice for this fic, feel free to email them to me. I have a general idea of where this is going, but I seem to be floundering a bit. Anyway, imput would be welcome. Reviews would be welcome. **

**On with the story… **

Harry looked up into those hard black eyes and desperately sought for an answer that would soften them.

"I was worried about you."

They remained cold.

"Sev, if this was a bad idea, I'm sorry. But look, there's only so long I'm gonna sit upstairs like a good boy and worry about you."

And there it was again, very suddenly. That infinitely tired, infinitely frightening expression that Severus had worn once before in Harry's company. The one that told Harry exactly how little Severus had left to give, how close he was to falling apart entirely.

"It doesn't matter."

Harry raised a hand to touch his lover's face, gently. Something had happened. It was written here, behind the mask Severus always wore, but he couldn't get far enough in to read it. Severus's face was closed to him.

"Good. Because if you'd kicked me out, I'd have been up all night." He kept the fear and concern out of his voice, mostly, and he was counting on Severus being too tired to catch what he let slip.

"Undoubtedly."

Harry turned his head slightly, still inspecting Severus's face. It was still as tired, masked and cold as always.

And still as earth-shatteringly beautiful.

"What exactly are you looking at?"

The voice caught him off guard.

"You." Harry answered truthfully, and then blushed.

"And what have you learned from such intimate study?"

Again he answered without thinking. "That you're beautiful. And that I never want to let you go."

And then Severus did something strange. He shut his eyes, the lashes dark against his oh-so-white cheek, and shuddered, once. And then he raised his hand and brushed Harry's away from his face, before turning away.

"Well I'm afraid that, for tonight at least, you are obligated to do just that. You've seen that I'm still alive, so you'd best be off to bed."

Harry could not think of anything to say. Something was wrong.

"Severus…"

The man was beautiful enough to make his heart ache. Harry didn't know why this was hitting him so hard just now, but it seemed that every movement the older man made, every gesture, was done with a sinewy grace that defied description. Someone like this shouldn't have problems. They should be lying on cushions all day, being fed grapes by a hundred devoted servants.

And then, his back still to Harry, leaning against the wall with one arm, head down, Severus spoke again. Until this moment, Harry hadn't been entirely certain that he wasn't imagining things. But when Severus's voice, low and gravely, stretched to the breaking point, cut through the silence, he was sure.

"Can't you see that you're making it worse?"

The desperation in his lover's voice was unbearable. Harry stifled the urge to rush to his side, clamping his hands against the edge of the desk he was sitting on. He was somehow quite certain that he should not infringe on Severus's personal space just now, although he wanted very much to hold the older man. "Should I go, then? I will, if that's what you need." It cost him more than he expected to say it.

There was silence, and Harry braced himself to be told, for the second time that night, to go to bed like a good little child. But the words never came. Instead, in the same, gravely voice, Severus choked out, "no."

Harry clenched his hands again. Why, _why_, did Severus have to be so incredibly beautiful and so incredibly vulnerable? And so incredibly untouchable.

"I'll make you some tea, then." His voice was shaking, but he managed to stand up and walk to Severus's side, almost normally, and lead him lightly towards a chair. "You're bound to be tired, after a meeting."

He wasn't going to force Sev to talk (as if that were even possible, he thought ruefully.). If the older man needed to tell him what had happened, he would. Otherwise, Harry would just make tea. He focused his panicked thoughts on that. Tea.

Severus seemed to have composed himself.

"No more tired than you must be, having stayed up half the night worrying needlessly." There was an edge to his voice.

"Not needlessly." Harry corrected lightly. "If anything happens to you, I'll cheerfully jump off of the Astronomy Tower, so I've a right to worry."

Severus rewarded him with a dark look. "Don't be an idiot, Harry."

Harry shrugged, having conjured a steaming mug of tea. "Do you want sugar?"

"No." obviously still irritated, Severus summoned the tea directly out of Harry's hands, and sneered, tucking his wand out of sight again. "I happen to resent being offered tea in my own chambers."

"Sorry." Harry grinned sheepishly. "I didn't know what else to do, though."

"I suppose going to bed was out?"

Harry nodded. The vulnerable look had faded from Severus's face, but all was not well. There was still strain there.

"Well, perhaps simply being here is enough."

Harry looked up, surprised, wondering if he'd heard right. Severus didn't actually _want _him here…did he? But, from the vulnerable look in his lover's eyes, Severus needed him more than he wanted to admit.

And that scared Harry.

Instead of addressing the comment (Severus was already looking like he wished he could take back the words), Harry put down his tea and picked up his lover's hand, tracing circles on the back of it. Severus's hands were smooth, and very white, without any hair on the knuckles. Harry looked ruefully at his own clumsy, stubby fingers and wondered why Severus permitted him to run those hands over the older man's perfect body.

"Is it ok, this? Do you mind me touching you right now?"

He still didn't know. After being together for even the amount of time that they had been, he still didn't know much about Severus. He never knew if he was following the right track to being snogged senseless, or if he was about to be pushed away.

This time, though, Severus shook his head and tightened his hand almost imperceptively around Harry's own.

So, greatly daring, Harry moved around the table and sat down in his favorite place. Severus's lap.

"So this is better than tea, is it?" He ignored the slightly taken-aback look on his lover's face, relieved that he hadn't immediately been pushed away.

"Undoubtedly."

Long-fingered hands stroked his hair, tentatively, and Harry closed his eyes.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew that a good snogging wasn't going to fix anything. He knew that the problems would still be there when he opened his eyes. He knew that this wasn't going to do more than delay the moment of confrontation. He knew all that. Really. But he also knew that this was the only place that things ever felt _right_, and if he could still have this…well things couldn't be all _that_ bad.

Unthinking, he tilted his face up, brought his lips forward for a kiss…and was gently but firmly rebuffed, as Severus moved his face to the side, gazing at the wall.

Harry felt his relief falter. Something was seriously amiss.

"Sev, what's up?"

Smoldering eyes met his own, but Severus didn't answer, except to pull him closer, pressing their bodies together. It wasn't so much a _sexual_ embrace as a possessive, _protective_ embrace, and it worried Harry. He didn't need protecting; not now. It was Severus who was acting strangely. It was Severus who he'd dearly love to protect, if only he knew how…

Harry looked deeply into those eyes, trying to communicate understanding and love, but receiving only a blank stare. Praying he was doing the right thing, he spoke softly, "What happened tonight?"

He felt Severus freeze beneath him, the thin arms around him locking in place. He ran his hands down them, trying to massage some life back into the muscles there, a bit frightened by this reaction.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to push you." He closed his eyes again, leaned his head against the scratchy fabric of his potion master's robe, and wound a lock of the smooth, black hair around his finger. "But see, I'm worried about you. You haven't a single person to talk to, and you're so closed up. If it's obvious even to _me_ that something's wrong…" he let his voice trail off. There was a tightness to it that he didn't like, and he didn't relish the thought of sobbing into Severus' chest right now.

_Grow up_. He told himself fiercely.

Severus seemed to relax, very suddenly. Harry felt this very acutely, owing to the fact that their bodies were pressed tightly together. Every muscle in Severus's body seemed to melt against him. Harry kept his eyes closed, breathing in the distinct smell of his lover. _Please_, he pleaded desperately, _don't let anything be seriously wrong. I'm just seventeen…I won't be able to do anything._

And then, with a tinge of resolve to his desperation, _I'll help him. No matter what he needs. _

"Harry."

He met dark eyes again, and was surprised to find them compassionate.

"Harry."

Cool, soft lips met his own, and Harry leaned into the kiss automatically, touching their tongues together. He was surprised by a jolt of desire that passed through him. He'd been feeling terrified a moment ago.

Severus pulled back from the kiss, looking amused. "You're an idiot."

"Right." Harry struggled to collect his thoughts. "Well that's not what I expected after being thoroughly kissed, but ok. I'll give you that."

"Brat." Severus nipped his ear affectionately. "You're meant to dispute the slur to your intelligence."

"Ya well." Harry laughed shakily. "Are you going to tell me what happened, or…" He trailed of, ending with a lame, "or not?"

"Not."

Harry nodded. "As long as you're alright. I mean, it'd be great if you told me stuff…" He looked hopefully at Severus. "But I don't know how likely that is."

Severus shook his head. "Not likely at all, I'm afraid."

Harry tried to be disappointed by this, but found himself too relieved by the sudden change in his lover. He dared to hope that he'd done _something_ right.

And he had other things on his mind.

"So," he began brightly, "since me going to bed is about as likely as you telling me what happened tonight, what shall we do?"

He grinned and ran a hand over his professor's thigh, nuzzling his nose into the soft hair at the base of Severus's neck.

His hand was caught in an iron grasp, and he grinned into burning eyes.

The silky voice, as always, made him shiver.

"I'm sure I can think of _something_."

**A/N: Ok…so there was originally supposed to be smut in this chapter, and I DID write it in. But it REALLY didn't fit, and it just wasn't right for the moment. So I had to take it out. Sorry, but that's how it is. Take it or leave it, but I'm still the author, and I'm still the one who gets to decide these things. :-)**

**However, I can't decide; for the next chapter, should I pick up where we left off, or should I start somewhere new? Ask and you shall receive, and all that.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: For those of you who wanted me to pick up where I left off…I apologize. To those of you who said to go with what felt right…thanks. To all of you, thanks for reviewing, and enjoy the update!**

"Close your mind, Harry."

Severus rubbed his aching temples and flicked his wand lazily at the boy. The boy made only a token attempt to repel the attack, before allowing his defenses to crumble.

Harry's mind was a disorganized disaster, but it was familiar to Severus, and he sped down synaptic connections without thinking.

Severus sifted through the contents of the teenage mind with the same efficiency that he used in potion making, trying to find something that would give Harry the incentive to push him out.

Memories of a miserable childhood…he skirted those. There were only so many times Severus could _watch _the damned muggles without wanting to boil them alive in undiluted bubotuber pus.

The Chang girl closing the distance between them, her eyes puffy, lips moist…

He skirted that too, keeping a derogatory laugh to himself. Idiot child.

And there, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. It was whisked away almost immediately by Harry, and Severus noted wryly that it had the same overtones as the Chang memory.

And if Harry did not want him to see it…

He dodged a memory of a scowling Sirius Black, and whispered furiously to Harry, "you're not trying. You've let me in already. Now get me out!"

More feeble mental shoves.

The body of another Griffindor boy swam into his vision. Harry seemed very eager to get Severus out now, but this memory had caught his interest. Dean Thomas's face was flushed and well kissed, and his arms were around Harry's neck.

"You love me, Harry."

Obediently, laughingly, Harry's voice agreed. "Sure thing."

Severus watched dispassionately, as Harry frantically pushed at his mind. "Try harder, unless you want me to see the rest of it."

At last, as the other boy was leaning forwards again, licking his lips nervously, Severus was literally catapulted out of Harry's mind.

He blinked, once, and locked eyes with a seething Harry. Despite his pounding heart (Harry had not pushed him lightly, that last time), Severus forced himself to sneer.

"Again you let me in. I may serve you to the Dark Lord on a platter myself if this continues."

Harry was breathing heavily, and his wand was out. With a visible effort, he lowered it, and spoke in measured tones.

"You know, I may love you, but you're honestly the most sadistic bastard I've ever met."

Severus allowed his lip to curl slightly. "Petulance will get you nowhere, Potter. Learn to keep me out of your mind, and you won't be embarrassed again."

He crossed quickly to his desk and poured them both a shot of Firewhiskey. "Here. Down this." His tone was not unkind.

Harry took it, with a mutinous look, and gulped it down, gasping as it seared his throat. "You're getting better."

Harry gave him a sneer. "Right. And Dumbledore's joined the Dark Side."

Severus sighed and sat down, gesturing for Harry to do the same. He felt a pang of guilt when the boy opted for another straight-backed chair, as opposed to his preferred position on Severus's lap. These lessons, the constant fights, his constant bombardment of the boy's mind, were doing their relationship little good.

Harry was still glaring at him, and Severus closed his eyes, unwilling to have yet another discussion, yet another fight. Better to ignore the look.

_I'm doing the right thing_, he thought wearily. _He's got to learn. _

And then, desperately, _but why from _me

Severus was so tired…so very tired. When he woke up in the mornings, his back ached, and he groaned at the thought of teaching his classes. The Dark Lord looked through him now, favoring other Death Eaters with secretive looks, and Severus managed, just, to be grateful for that.

And Harry.

He was always grateful for Harry.

Even if the boy hated him; even if the boy thought he was a sadistic bastard. Severus was grateful because Harry kept him alive. Harry kept him from dying inside.

Severus felt old and ugly. He could feel warmth from the fire on his skin, but it didn't penetrate to the dull chill inside him. His hair felt greasy on his neck, and he knew there were dark circles under his eyes.

Circles that matched those under Harry's eyes.

Neither of them slept well these days. Severus knew that, on the other chair, Harry would be in the same, half-aware state that he was in. Neither of them ever really slept now. If it wasn't spending all hours of the night with each other, for that craved extra second in the company of a lover, it was the dreams that frequented their beds. Severus dreamed nightly now, and he knew the signs in another person, although he and Harry never discussed it.

Severus could sympathize with the boy, but only to a certain extent. After all, the horrors he saw in _his_ nightmares weren't happening. He could always wake up. The things Harry saw, the torture sessions he was forced to watch, were all too real.

Severus didn't think he could cope with that.

And he didn't think he could cope without Harry, which made these frosty silences all the more painful.

And then he felt a hand touch his own.

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Harry caressed the smooth fingers and smiled into black eyes as they snapped open. Gently, lovingly, he pressed a kiss to Severus's cold lips, warming them with his own chapped ones. Before his lover could deepen the kiss, he pulled away, stroking Severus's cheek with his hand, very lightly.

Severus seemed to struggle momentarily to get his breathing under control, and then spoke with his usual wry humor. "I was unaware that anything I'd done recently merited such a display. Not, of course, that I'm complaining."

Harry smiled again. "You're not a sadistic bastard. Well," he amended, "not really. I know you're doing it to help me, and I am grateful, when I get over the shock of having you invade my mind like that."

Severus closed his eyes again, and Harry plonked himself down on the older man's lap. "I'm sorry…I've got a bit of a temper these days, in case you haven't noticed."

One eye cracked open, and one long-fingered hand crept across his thigh. "I noticed." The dry voice verified.

Harry kept his voice even, despite the hand. "But you know that I love you, even if you are horrible sometimes."

"Haven't you learned anything at this school?" Fingers danced across his groin, and Harry shuddered. "I'm always horrible. Just ask any of those nattering, idiotic First Years."

"You are a bit harsh." He bit back a moan. "But you make up for it in other areas."

"Other areas?" Severus was in full seductive mode, speaking in a harsh whisper. "Which areas would you be referring to…Mr. Potter?"

The other hand had ghosted up across Harry's chest, and at these last words, tweaked one of his nipples, making Harry gasp out loud.

Finally, Harry leaned forwards and kissed his potions master eagerly, reveling once again in the taste of the other's mouth, obediently parting his lips for Severus's tongue.

As always, the feeling of well being radiated from each point of contact, spreading until every part of him seemed to glow with happiness, the word _Severus_ echoing in his ears.

But all too soon, the man under him pulled away.

Harry grasped at the thick robes beneath him and met Severus's eyes, disoriented. The man chuckled and freed his robes from Harry's grip, deftly rising to his feet and placing the boy to the side in the same movement.

"What did you do that for?" Harry asked indignantly, swirling his tongue over his teeth to catch every last taste of Severus. "I was just getting started."

Severus leaned forwards for a chaste kiss, but pulled back the instant Harry tried to deepen it. Harry glared mutinously up at him under his eyelashes, trying to look furious and cheated.

He had a sneaking suspicion, though, judging by the quiet chuckle he drew from his lover, that he was only managing to look rumpled and cute. This was confirmed by Severus's next comment.

"You look like a cat who's just been pushed off his favorite chair, Potter. I would very much like to entertain you further, but I need to shower."

"That's pretty much what you are…my favorite chair."

"I suspected as much."

Harry saw the smirk and pouted. "But I _want_ you."

"You don't want me greasy, boy."

Harry might have disagreed, but he found himself pushed firmly into a chair, and handed a quill and parchment. "You can survive fifteen minutes without satisfaction, I'm sure. Might I suggest you spend the time industriously writing your potions essay?"

Harry sighed, but nodded and bent his head to the empty paper. He heard Severus shut several doors softly, and then the rustle of clothes sliding off skin. He closed his eyes, listening, imagining the course fabric dropping to the floor, the lithe form stepping into a shower stall.

It wasn't until he heard the light pattering of water that Harry began to get ideas.

At first he simply shook them off, dismissing them as more fantasies. But the longer he sat, listening to Severus in the shower, the more he liked the thoughts he was thinking.

Harry didn't make a decision. It was more that the idea grabbed him, and he suddenly found himself standing up, folding the parchment and slipping through the door to Severus's private quarters.

He inhaled the smell of the other man, the vanilla and sandalwood that seemed to follow his lover everywhere. Harry wanted a perfume that smelled like this. He'd keep it in his underwear drawer and open it whenever he felt lonely.

He snorted at the thought, and them moved stealthily through another door, following the sound of running water.

And then, through another door, glass paneled this time, with a blurring charm done on the colored pane, and he was in the bathroom.

Before he could change his mind, Harry silently disrobed and slipped into the shower stall.

And found himself face to face with a very surprised Severus, who was having a very _cold_ shower.

With a yelp, Harry stumbled backwards. He'd been half hard from their snogging session, but it was embarrassing how quickly he shriveled. In his hurry to escape the shock of cold water, he tripped over the shower lip and went sprawling, banging his tailbone hard on the tile floor.

The pain in his backside, however, was nothing to the embarrassment he was feeling. This was very different from what he'd envisioned. For one thing, he thought, blushing, the shower had been warm.

Severus was staring down at him, having concealed his primary reaction of shock, with a measured expression.

Well, Harry assumed he'd been shocked. _He_ would have been shocked, had a naked Severus jumped into one of _his_ showers, shrieked, and jumped out only to go sprawling across the floor.

He might have been a little annoyed, too.

Harry tried a winning smile, but he was afraid it fell rather flat, since a drip of water fell from the end of his nose in the midst of the attempt.

Severus turned the shower off, stepped out, and snagged a towel from a nearby rack, apparently shaking with rage. Harry gulped and tried to get up.

Unfortunately, since his left foot was still tangled in the shower curtain, he simply slipped again, jarring that sensitive spot on his tailbone. He shut his eyes, expecting the wrath of Severus Snape, Potions Master and Terror of Hogwarts, to descend upon him. He expected to hear nothing but a cold, furious voice hissing at him to _get out, and stop making a fool of yourself. _

But what he heard was quite different.

Laughter.

Not the cruel snicker, or the dark chuckle he was used to. Not even the sharp bark of laughter he managed to extract from his lover when he said something _really _funny.

No.

Severus Snape was _laughing_. Helplessly.

Harry cracked open one eye, half expecting to be cursed into oblivion, to see Severus sitting on the edge of the spacious bathtub, his lower half wrapped in the towel, face in hands, laughing with complete abandon.

Harry flushed a brilliant red. He wanted to _die_. This was absolutely the most humiliating moment of his life. Severus glanced at him, eyes streaming tears of mirth, and disappeared behind his hands again, absolutely howling with laughter.

Harry stayed where he was, wanting the floor to swallow him, until the laughter died down a little, turning into little chortles that broke out occasionally into full bodied laughs.

Then, painstakingly, he unraveled his feet from the curtain and stood up, flushing. "I'm glad _you_ think it's so funny!" He began, taking a painful step towards Severus, who had managed to meet his eyes at last, but still seemed to be holding back laughter, "but I'll have you know that my arse feels like it's—" But that was as far as he got. With a gasp of horror, he felt his feet began to slide out from under him, his arms pinwheeling. And then he was on the ground again, cracking his head (and his much abused tailbone) on the hard floor.

This time Severus did not remain composed even for a second. The older man laughed hysterically, waving his hand at Harry and trying to speak coherently through his chortling.

Harry didn't think he'd ever move again. He _would_ die here, and that would show Severus. He'd always remember this as the day his lover died on his floor while he fell about laughing.

Severus finally managed to calm himself slightly, and gasped out, "Get up, you ridiculous boy." More laughter. "You are making a spectacle of yourself. Is it really so impossible for me to shower in peace, without you performing misguided suicide attempts on the floor of my washroom?"

Harry blushed and picked himself up, yet again. He managed to stay up this time, and forced himself to meet Severus's eyes.

"It's not really that funny, you know."

Severus nodded seriously, his eyes twinkling. "It is, in fact, very serious, Harry. Let's talk about this need of yours to cavort around other people's rooms and give them cardiac arrests whilst they shower. Perhaps we have found the way for you to defeat the Dark Lord? You can simply offer to show him your own unique style of dance, and he will die laughing."

Harry had heard about enough. Still flushing red, he turned around and retrieved his clothes, and, still facing the other direction, spoke furiously. "Look, I've made a right idiot of myself, and I think I'll go back to the common room and find a corner to die in."

There was no answer, and he began to pull his robes on. Two hands, though, one on his hip and the other gently taking his robes away and dropping them to the floor, stopped him.

A voice in his ear made him start. "Now what would you want to do that for? Didn't you come in here for a reason?"

Harry turned around, to face a more serious Severus, who pulled him close. "Well maybe, but I'm really more fond of _warm _showers, thanks."

"I had noticed." Came the wry answer. Harry tried, and failed, not to blush again.

"And I don't think you can stop laughing long enough to do anything really interesting."

Harry ran his fingers over the smooth chest in front of him, pleased at how Severus came out in goosebumps where he touched.

"I beg to differ. I shall be very serious." Harry felt his lips caught in a searing kiss, and he melted into the cold arms surrounding him.

When they broke apart for air, he murmured softly against Severus's lips, "I still don't want to get back in that shower." And received a quiet chuckle.

"A bath then."

Another soft kiss and Harry heard the rush of water pouring into the bathtub behind Severus. He was more interested, however, in the hands that were sliding down his body, pinching and caressing, soothing and chafing. He pressed into Severus's side, mewling, and was gently rebuffed. Strong arms held him still, forcing his hips to remain stationary.

"Patience."

Harry gasped as his legs turned to jelly, thankful that Severus was holding him up. "I hate being patient."

"Yes…I can tell. One simply must observe what happens when you are told to wait whilst I shower to see that."

Severus's hands seemed to have warmed a little, and they felt amazingly good against Harry's skin.

Even better was a second later, when Harry felt himself tugged gently into the pool-sized bathtub, the hot water closing over his shoulders. And all the while, Severus's talented fingers were caressing, teasing every inch of his skin.

It was so perfect that it was almost painful. This touch, this caress, this moment. Severus was lounged on a bench that was built into the bathtub, and Harry was sprawled across his lap, weak-kneed.

"Who do you belong to?" Severus whispered, licking a trail across Harry's collarbone, hands busy below his waste.

Harry, delirious with happiness and lust, managed to pant out, "You. No one but you. And—" He paused, arching against the hand that brushed his swollen cock. "and I'd do anything for you, I swear."

"Good boy." Came the silky answer. Harry felt himself turned slightly, felt a finger press slightly against his entrance. He moaned and wrapped his arms around his lover's neck, holding on for dear life. The combination of hot water, and Severus's finger, now moving slowly in and out of his arse, was making him light-headed.

"More." Another finger joined the first, filling, stretching, and Harry gasped with pleasure.

"You are mine, and don't you ever forget it."

"Yours." Harry squirmed delightedly against the fingers, now scissoring inside him. "Just yours."

"And I'm going to take you, right here, and you are _never_ going to let anyone else do so. Is that understood?"

Severus looked so utterly threatening, and the searing kiss he delivered was so possessive, that Harry smiled faintly. He didn't feel threatened…not really. He felt protected, and the deep growl coming from his lover's throat made him shiver pleasantly.

Something else replaced the fingers, and Harry felt his legs thrown up over Severus's shoulders, as the man thrust deeply into him.

Their eyes met, and Harry kept the contact as long as he could, until he had to close his eyes against the wash of feelings. Severus was hard inside him, and each thrust rocked Harry backwards.

When they came, together, it was with the incredible, earth-shattering feeling that threatened to tear Harry apart. He wondered if it were possible to die of sheer happiness.

He lay there, caressed by the water and Severus's arms, his eyes closed, unwilling to open them and come back to the world.

It was into this self-enforced blackness that he whispered, unable to hold it back, "I love you."

There was, as he'd expected, no answer. Not a verbal one, anyway. Instead of words, Harry felt a hand ghost over his hair, lips pressed gently to his forehead.

For now, that would do.

**A/N: Ok…Go me! That was definitely one of my longer updates, and it was probably the most fun to write. I like having Harry make an idiot out of himself. :-)**

**Anyway, this was my gift to you…after this chapter, things are probably going to get ugly for Harry and Sev. I needed to get in some kinky sex in the bathtub before we moved on to serious matters. :P**

**Review! I want to know if you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Side note: Interestingly enough, I planned on them having their fun in the shower, but the scene took over on me. I think it's better this way anyway. **


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